Standing On The Edge
by lumberjackwitch
Summary: WIP: It's Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, and the past five years have affected him more than anyone thought. There's an unwelcome visitor lurking on the edge of Harry's sanity and he is no longer able to trust the people around him, save for one person..
1. Another Year

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
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**Standing On The Edge**

Chapter 1: Another Year  
  
Ginny Weasley stormed into the Gryffindor common room and threw her books in the general direction of one of the squashy armchairs, narrowly missing Parvati Patil. Toeing off her sneakers, she dragged herself over to the fire and slumped, a bundle of robes, into a chair. She chewed on her bottom lip moodily, every inch of her feeling as though she had just fallen off the Astronomy tower. Nearby, Harry Potter looked up from the game of Wizard's Chess he had been playing with Ron, and grinned, a lock of black hair falling over one eye.  
  
"Bad detention?"  
  
Ginny threw him a withering look and ran a hand over her face. "The worst," she replied. "Filch made me sort through and organize the main storage cupboard in his office, then I had to go with him to the Owlery to scrub owl droppings off the floor. Without magic!" She scowled and cast a dirty look out a window, as though expecting to see Filch lurking there outside, hundreds of feet above the ground.  
  
Harry made a sympathetic noise. "Rough," he said, noting how tired she looked. "Have you eaten?"  
  
"No," Ginny said sulkily. "I suppose it's too late now, anyway..."  
  
Harry adjusted his glasses and glanced down at the chessboard again. Ron had gone to the dormitory to hunt down his bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, leaving Harry to contemplate his next move. Naturally, Ron was winning...two third's of Harry's pieces had been taken out, and so far he had only managed to nab one of Ron's knights and a pawn. He scratched his head and thought he had a move worked out when Ron returned, looking very tousled but exceptionally triumphant.  
  
"Ha!" he announced, holding up the voluminous bag of sweets and sitting down. "Found them! They somehow ended up at the bottom of my trunk, coiled into one of the sweaters mum knit me last Christmas --"  
  
Ginny snorted. "Hand them over."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I haven't eaten since breakfast."  
  
Ron threw her the bag. "Don't eat them all." He chewed thoughtfully on a bean before adding, "By the way, how was your detention?" Ginny scowled and repeated what she'd told Harry.  
  
"Rough," Ron replied after she'd finished. "Filch's cupboard, from what Fred and George have told me, isn't small either...and I reckon the Owlery hasn't been scrubbed in about a year..."  
  
"It _was_ getting pretty bad," Harry commented, taking his turn with the chess.  
  
Ron scoured the board with his eyes, and almost absent-mindedly cast his next move, sending Harry's king flying.  
  
Harry sighed in defeat. "Well done, mate."  
  
Ron laughed a little. "You are getting better, Harry...just very slowly." He grabbed the bag of beans from his sister and shoved a handful into his mouth, grinning.  
  
"Slowly," Harry repeated, running both hands through his hair. It had grown a lot over the summer, reaching such a high level of untidiness that numerous females (in the whole two weeks they'd been back at Hogwarts), said looked really good. Many times he'd considered using magic to give it a trim, but decided that even though he was in sixth year, his Trimming Charm wasn't quite perfected yet. What really stopped him, however, was the memory of the Yule Ball in which Ron had used the same charm to attempt to remove the frills from his dress robes.  
  
Harry had grown a whopping one inch during the holidays, but was finally getting rid of the awkwardness of youth and starting to fill out a little. In replace of his skinny arms and legs was muscle born of his Quidditch training, and he looked much older than he was. He wasn't massive at all, but a "good healthy size," as Mr. Weasley had told him. Ron, however, had grown even taller. His shock of red hair was nearly as long as Harry's, but nowhere near as untidy. He too was rid of the lankiness in his limbs and appeared considerably older.  
  
"You'll get better," Ron said. "It takes a while --"  
  
Suddenly, a choking noise came out of Ginny so alarming that both he and Harry were at her side in a second, hitting her quite roughly on the back. Her eyes were watering and she half stood up, doubled over, and gasped for breath. After one particularly loud cough, a grayish clump shot out of her mouth and into the fire, where it hissed and burst into flame.  
  
"Ginny Are you all right?"  
  
_"It's the - dirty - toenail flavoured bean - "_ she choked, sinking back into her chair. "Every time I get one of those I always choke on them..."  
  
Further across the room, tucked into a corner chair and surrounded by books, was Hermione. Her face was concealed behind "The Arthritmancy Almanac," but the stray bits of hair that had escaped the bun at the back of her head were sticking crazily out in every direction.  
  
"Ruddy unbelievable," said Ron, eyeing her. "Been here for two weeks and already she's stressing over her classes. McGonagall hasn't even gotten us far enough into her course yet to have us transfigure teabags!"  
  
"Of course, you sixth years will be transfiguring things like badgers and tea kettles," Ginny said. "Good luck with that, Ron. I've gott'a work like mad because of those sodding O.W.L.S..." She broke off coughing again.

Ron threw a carpet-flavoured bean at her. "If you can pass them, you'll be fine."  
  
The sky outside was darkening quickly. Harry got up and went to a window. The Forbidden Forest loomed black in the distance, and the lights were on in Hagrid's hut where smoke streamed lazily out of the chimney. One of the first stars twinkled into sight, and the silhouette of an owl flew into the diminishing purple horizon. He gazed out at the grounds, not aware of the cold stone on his elbows, nor the way his eyes were slowly filling up with lonely tears. He was back where he belonged...but... He felt a presence at his right. Hermione squeezed into the space with him and looked at him sadly.  
  
"Thinking of him, aren't you?"  
  
In spite of himself, Harry smiled slightly. "How is it you know everything?"  
  
Hermione looked out at the forest and sighed quietly. "I miss him, too. Not as deeply as you, of course, but...Grimmauld Place was so horrible without him there. Everyone felt the hole."  
  
Harry nodded. She was right, after all. There _was_ a hole there. A huge, black, gaping, lonely hole. In a way he was glad to leave the Order once start of term had arrived, because the weight of Sirius' memory was threatening to crush him.

Hermione gave his hand a gentle squeeze. She stood with him a while longer, then retreated to the fireside to chat with Ginny, saying nothing. It was just as well; he wasn't feeling social at the moment. In fact, he hadn't felt social since the summer... He still hadn't told them what Dumbledore had revealed to him two months ago, and he wasn't sure he wanted to at the moment. In a way he felt guilty for keeping this information from them, but on the other hand it grieved and scared him so much that he wasn't sure he wanted to believe it was true. Become a murderer or be murdered --  
  
"Hey, Harry," Ron called, pulling him out of his thoughts. Wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater (bearing the Gryffindor lion knitted by Mrs. Weasley), he went to join his friends at the fire, grateful for the warmth. He half-listened to Ginny talking about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and strayed off into a trance instead. He really wished to be left alone.  
  
The sixth year would be a better one as far as his classes went (he had selected everything he'd need to qualify for a position as an Auror), but he wasn't looking forward to the people. Although pretty much all of them believed that Voldemort was back to power, he hated the ever-growing amount of stares, whispering and pointed that it had earned him; not to mention the murderous glares the Slytherin's rewarded him with every time he came into their sight. Professor Snape hadn't been much better, either: ever since the incident with the Pensieve last year he had been even more horrible than the past five years combined.  
  
After a while Harry yawned and stretched. Hermione was getting up and fastening the clasps on her new book bag.  
  
"You going to bed?"  
  
Hermione nodded. Harry quietly bid everyone goodnight and slowly walked with Hermione to the staircases leading up to the dormitories.  
  
"Look," Hermione said, turning to him. "_Try_ to get some sleep, OK? Try not to think about..."  
  
Harry nodded. "I'll try." He was determined to keep conversation off Sirius.  
  
Hermione looked at him for a second as though wanting to say more, but decided against it. She stood on her tiptoes and gave Harry a reassuring kiss on the cheek, said good night, and was gone.

Harry ascended the cold stone stairs to the dorm he shared with Dean, Seamus, Neville and Ron. He carelessly changed into his pajamas, his eyes half-closed, his mind filled with so many things he felt as though he was going to burst. The room was very dark but he was too numb to bother lighting the candles. Sitting on the large windowsill overlooking Hagrid's hut, he brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. Even Hogwarts was losing its appeal. Everything was: food, classes, and friends... What else could he lose, as almost everything he held close to his heart was snatched away from him? What if something ever happened to Ron or Hermione? Why couldn't it have been him who'd fallen instead of Sirius...the memories came back to him then. A large lump had formed in his throat. He swallowed, but it got worse. Tears slid down his face, but he didn't try to remove them.  
  
Half an hour later, Ron opened the dormitory door ever so quietly and slightly. His expression suddenly changed to one of concern when he saw his best friend sobbing quietly onto his knees on the moonlit windowsill.  
  
Many more chapters coming...please review and let me know how I'm doing. (This is my first fic, so be gentle!!)


	2. Rivals

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
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Chapter 2: Rivals  
  
It became somewhat apparent to Harry's friends just how much of a change the past few years had wrought in him. At least...they _thought_ they knew. Of course they were all worried about him, but nobody touched on anything as far as speaking to him about it. Hermione was the only exception, however, although what she said was very carefully worded.  
  
Ron didn't tell Harry what he saw when he'd spied him on the windowsill that night; he was sure that that knowledge would certainly embarrass Harry. It saddened Ron beyond words, however, because knowing now what kind of grief must be inside his best friend...he felt powerless to help him. What he needed was someone to talk to - someone _older_ - who knew even a little bit of the pain Harry had inside him.  
  
The ceiling of the Great Hall was dark and stormy-looking. The wind outside carried the scent of rain and beat upon the school as though it was trying to force the building to the ground. The weather had been like this since school began.  
  
The three sat among their chattering classmates, eating a more or less silent breakfast. Harry was sleepily picking at his egg, Ron had gorged on sausages, pancakes, steak and fruit (and was now trying to locate his timetable), and Hermione's head was buried in a copy of The Daily Prophet.  
  
"I should subscribe to that newspaper," Harry thought aloud. "Just to give Hedwig something to do. I haven't seen her since the start of term."  
  
Ron squirmed about in his pockets for a little longer and emerged, holding up a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. "Found the sodding thing!" he announced happily.  
  
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione sighed, looking hopelessly at him over the top of the front page. "I don't know why you couldn't just ask Harry if you could borrow his...you both have the same classes."  
  
Ron scowled at her as she retreated back behind the paper. "Sorry, Harry," he muttered. "Did you hear something squeaking...?"  
  
Hermione's paper rattled.  
  
"Double potions," Ron moaned. "D.A.D.A...not bad...and Charms. Great. If Snape dies or something before class starts, this could really be a good day."  
  
Harry laughed for the first time in a long while.  
  
"Well, really," continued Ron. "He's been a bigger prat this year than all the year's combined, if that's possible..."  
  
Harry looked down at his lap, still smirking, fully understanding why. Instead of taking his anger out on only Harry, it seemed he had targeted the whole of Gryffindor house.  
  
"We'd better not be doing vanishing Potions again this year," Ron muttered darkly, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice. "I'm horrible with those."  
  
"You think you are?" piped Neville from a little further down the table. "And that Sleeping Draught he had us make on Friday!! He said it was supposed to be clear and syrup-like...mine was green..."  
  
Ron laughed. "Remember _mine?_ Burst into flame when I added the hops and started overflowing all over the floor?"  
  
Hermione folded up her paper, smiling. "I've got to run," she said. "I have to stop at the library to return a book before class, so I'll meet you down there." She stood up, swung her book bag onto her shoulder, and walked briskly out of the Great Hall.  
  
Ron downed his glass of pumpkin juice and studied Harry. "You all right?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry answered. "Fine."  
  
Ron gestured towards the door. "Should we head down, then?" Get seats at the back?"  
  
"Good idea," Harry said, stretching. "Being as far away from Snape as possible would be good today." He honestly didn't want to head down this early because Draco and his cronies weren't at breakfast, which meant that they were either out harassing a first year or already down at the dungeons. He rose, however, and followed Ron out into the Entrance Hall and down the stairs to the dungeon levels.  
  
----------  
  
Snape surveyed the silent class, his eyes narrowed. "I am thoroughly _disgusted._ I would have thought that sixth year potions students would produce better results than what was handed into me on Friday." He stopped and looked around the room again. His glare fixed itself on Harry, who slightly flinched as though it had stung him. Snape's lip curled unpleasantly and Harry knew his sample of Sleeping Draught probably hadn't been any better than Neville's...although it hadn't turned green.  
  
"As I have said numerous times before," Snape went on. "I only accept the very best into my N.E.W.T classes. Apparently my words have fallen on thoroughly moronic ears. That assignment was abysmal and there was no excuse for it to be so. Only a select few of you would be lucky if I even _considered_ taking you into my studies next year."  
  
Hermione looked very pleased with herself, but slightly wary nonetheless. Ron had stopped listening to Snape's usual speech and was doodling the Chudley Cannons logo onto his potions book. Across the room, Draco seemed to be showing Crabbe something very amusing, for their shoulders were shaking in silent laughter.  
  
"As such," Snape said, smirking slightly. "I think it would be best if we all tried the Sleeping Draughts one more time."  
  
Neville looked terrified.  
  
"Instructions are, once again, one the board, - " Snape flicked his wand irritably where they appeared. - "You have two hours. Begin. And woe betide any of you who fail."  
  
Harry reluctantly began setting up his cauldron. Nobody dared to moan or protest, and followed suit.  
  
"What a wanker," Hermione sighed. Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise. _"What?"_ she said, spreading her arms out wide. "I did everything perfectly on Friday, and he's making me do it again! I mean, I can understand giving someone like _Neville_ another go at it, but..."  
  
Ron snorted. "I didn't know you were capable of words like that, Hermione."  
  
Harry smiled and went to go rummage around in the storage cupboard. He was glad not to be learning something else today...most likely it would have been something very difficult, and his brain didn't seem to want to function properly. He dug out the required ingredients and returned to the table at the back he shared with his friends. Hermione had already lit the fire beneath hers and was adding the first powdered herbs.  
  
That's when Snape arrived. Another girl from Slytherin that they did not know was with him. "You two," he said dangerously, beckoning to Harry and Hermione. "Come with me."  
  
Ron looked at them in mild disclosure.  
  
Snape led the three into the corner at the back of the room where the door to his office stood. For one wild moment Harry thought they were being punished for something, but then Snape declared the opposite.  
  
"You three produced...excellent...Sleeping Draughts on Friday. There really is no need for you to do it again."  
  
"Really?" Hermione breathed. "Oh, good..."  
  
_"Be quiet,"_ Snape hissed. Hermione looked at her feet.

The Slytherin girl glanced at Harry in surprise. _"Him_, sir? But...he never does that well in your class. I mean, he took Remedial Potions last year."  
  
"I am aware of it," Snape replied icily, his eyes boring into Harry like daggers. "He got lucky this time, I'd wager...I wasn't able to find anything wrong to deduct marks for in his potion, unfortunately."  
  
Harry's cheeks grew hot. Snape sniggered. "You all may leave my class for today," he went on, straightening up to his full height. "But you," he caught the sleeve of Harry's robes. "I want a word with."  
  
Snape waited for the two girls to fade from earshot before he spoke. He looked at Harry as though appalled that he'd just had to touch him. "Professor Dumbledore..._insists_ that I continue Occlumency lessons with you this year."  
  
Harry groaned, his insides turning to lead.  
  
"Precisely," whispered his professor. "I very much agree. At this moment I would rather be instructing dear _Neville_ than wasting my evenings with you."  
  
"And that sounds like a great alternative for me," Harry responded. "Because I'm not exactly enjoying myself, either."  
  
Snape sneered. "You're exactly like your father...and now you know that that's nothing to be proud of."  
  
"And you're feeling sorry for yourself," Harry shot back. "So you have no alternative but to act like the world's biggest prat to anyone who crosses your path."  
  
"My point exactly," Snape hissed. "James had such a big head and it would seem as though he's passed it on to you...spoiled and insolent little - "  
  
"In case you hadn't noticed," Harry said coldly. "Nobody liked you then, and nobody likes you now, Professor. Or has that never occurred to you before?"  
  
Snape looked murderous.  
  
"Sorry," Harry interrupted in mock surprise. "Have I touched a nerve?"  
  
"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape spat. "And a week's detention starting tonight. Here at six o'clock and no later, or you will be sorry. Now get the hell out of my sight."

-------

Harry knew he shouldn't have flown off the hook in Snape's class, but every time he saw the man he had half a mind to flog him. Snape was always busy hurdling insults at Harry anyway, so Harry was always guaranteed a boiling temper, whether he tried to control it or not. Nonetheless, he found himself storming out of potions (followed by hisses and jeers from the Slytherins), and stalking angrily up to Gryffindor tower. Obviously it was deserted; Hermione must have gone to the library. Rays of sunlight filtered in from the windows, giving the room the impression that it was underwater.  
  
Harry threw his book bag across the room where it smashed into a table and fell behind it. _Great. _Now he had to lie flat on his belly and fish it out with the poker from the fireplace. Once that was done, he slumped into a chair and tried to calm down, his anger pulsating through him like wildfire.  
  
"Lousy git," he said furiously to himself, plucking at the sparse pieces of fluff that were beginning to come out of the armrest. He knew he shouldn't be letting Snape get to him like this. He also knew that, because Snape was in the Order, he should be at least trying to get along better with the potions master. It was so damn hard, though...hating him was easier.  
  
Harry stood up. Suddenly he was very bored.

Pacing the room and thinking of what he could possibly do with his remaining hour (that didn't involve libraries or doing homework), he glanced out of one of the windows and saw Hagrid sitting on the stairs of his hut, accompanied by none other than Professor Dumbledore. Since Hagrid didn't appear to have a class, Harry thought he'd go down and see him.

It was fairly warm out and the sun had decided to make an appearance...  
  
The two were talking quietly as Harry approached, and both looked up in surprise once they knew it was him. The talking ceased abruptly.  
  
"Blimey, Harry," Hagrid said. "Shouldn't yeh be in class?"  
  
"Probably," Harry answered, smiling slightly at the half-giant. "Snape and I - "  
  
"Hmmm," Dumbledore murmured, the merest hint of disapproval in his eyes. "Did _Professor_ Snape talk to you about Occlumency, Harry? I'd spoken to him earlier about it and - "  
  
Harry glared at the Headmaster, as though blaming all his unhappiness on him. "Yes."  
  
" - I said that, although you two have differences," the old wizard continued. "_Vast_ differences...you really need to be overcoming them. I know something happened between you and Professor Snape last year that might have jeopardized any hopes of friendship, but Harry, this is important."  
  
Hagrid got up and disappeared inside his hut, muttering about needing to make more tea.  
  
Harry blushed and looked at his feet. "I know it is, Sir."  
  
Dumbledore gave him an almost appraising look; his blue eyes seemed to penetrate the young wizard standing before him. "Please, Harry. Try to make an effort with this man. Try to get along with him. Arguing like this will do nothing to help your situation."  
  
"How can I?" gasped Harry, incredulous. "He hates me!"  
  
"Yes, well, the name of Potter hasn't sat quite well with Severus Snape for many long years," Dumbledore said quietly. His midnight blue robes swished softly as he stood up. Harry had forgotten how tall he was.  
  
Hagrid came out and sat back on the stairs gingerly, looking from one person to the other. A slight tremor ran though the stones. "Professor," he said gruffly, making Harry jump slightly. "Would yeh like more tea, then?"  
  
"No, no, Hagrid, I think I'll go back up to the school," Dumbledore said, arranging his silvery beard. "But thank you." He looked at Harry and smiled. Harry didn't know what to do, and when the old man began walking back up the grounds, Harry was left staring at his back.  
  
Hagrid looked at the boy. "Well now, no use just standing there. Come sit down." He patted the empty space next to him, creating several hairline cracks in the stone. Harry obliged. "Something ter drink, then?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, come on," Hagrid persisted, holding out a steaming mug.  
  
"Thanks," Harry replied.  
  
They both sat in stony silence for a while, looking out at the grounds. Occasionally a few rays of sunlight would shine longingly through the clouds ("They cover so fast," Harry thought), but for the most part it had gotten very gloomy outside. The lake looked black as ink and the water was choppy, as a strong wind was beginning to blow.  
  
"Bad start-of-term this year, eh Harry?"  
  
Harry looked up into his friends' eyes, almost concealed by the amounts of bushy hair surrounding his kind face. They were full of concern.  
  
"You could say that, yeah," Harry said grudgingly, watching the last bit of Dumbledore disappear inside the castle.  
  
Hagrid heaved a very deep sigh. "I can understand," he said softly. "Some people are just out fer themselves...and they chew up anyone in their path. Not carin'. The injustice some to ter yeh...it ain't right." He looked down at Harry. "But you always bounce back, don't yeh?"  
  
Harry grimaced. Tried to smile. "Apparently."  
  
"Yes, well," Hagrid went on. "There's only so much bouncing back yeh can do before yeh've had enough."  
  
A dozen or so crows flew past the hut.  
  
"All I'm sayin', Harry, is be careful. If there's something inside yeh that's really hurtin', if something inside yeh is really wrong...then don't ignore it. Come see me. See Dumbledore. See anyone...just don't ignore it."  
  
"Mmmm," Harry murmured, trying to give Hagrid the hint that the current conversation was making him uncomfortable.  
  
"So," Hagrid said awkwardly after some quiet length. "Did uh...Professor Snape give yeh detention, then?"  
  
"'Course," the black-haired boy replied irritably, gripping his mug so hard his knuckles turned white. "He'll do anything to deduct points and give out detentions, won't he? Has he always been this big of a prat?"  
  
Hagrid chuckled. "I never really talk to 'em," he said gruffly, looking down into his tea. "He isn't the most popular person here. Is really bitter to anyone who gets in his way. Studies like a madman though, even though he's a professor..."  
  
Harry smiled. He thought for a moment. "Hagrid...did you ever...talk to my mum and dad before they died? I mean, you were in the Order before and everything..."  
  
The half-giant looked at Harry with pity in his eyes. He put a massive hand on his back and sighed. "Oh yeah," he said. He took a swig of tea. "Lily was a beautiful person. Really friendly. James was quite a laugh, too...had a great sense of humour."  
  
"I guess," Harry replied quickly. He was starting to feel hopeless again. He put his mug of tea down on the steps and stood up. "I have to go, Hagrid."  
  
Hagrid looked a little hurt. "All right."  
  
-------  
  
Please review!! Thankies!


	3. Plots

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
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Chapter 3: Plots  
  
The white porcelain sink gleamed in the candlelight. Spots of illumination danced here and there across the smooth white surface, molten- like, beautiful. Silence. Except for the steady drip of water from a pipe not far off. And occasional weeping, mournful and quiet; echoing slightly eerily around the ancient room.  
  
The girls' toilet, to be exact.  
  
Harry Potter leaned over one of the sinks. He closed his eyes, both hands on either side of the cold surface, trying to breathe normally. This had been happening quite a lot over the summer...and Hogwarts wasn't about to let him forget it. Moaning Myrtle was in one of the stalls, crying again. Over who knew what. Harry ignored it.  
  
Opening his eyes, he looked at himself in the mirror and waited for the tears that blurred his vision to fall.  
  
He felt them sliding down his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, but they kept falling anyway. Then he was sobbing so loud it felt as if his soul was being mangled from inside his body. Behind his closed eyelids it was as though a film had been waiting to start, and a multitude of images flashed before him.  
  
All the pain he had caused.  
  
All the deaths.  
  
All the people who had died because of him.  
  
It was all his fault. He hadn't saved them. And he couldn't save anyone else.  
  
It blocked his throat so he could not breathe. His hearing was muffled, he was incapable of speech. He couldn't do anything but cry. Breathe. Wait it out. Try breathing the air around him but knowing it wasn't enough. He closed his eyes again and tilted his head back, facing the ceiling. He groaned quietly as his head began to throb painfully. Myrtle's crying was reduced to sniffling.  
  
He knew something was very, very wrong the first day back at Hogwarts. His temper did not seem to want to tolerate any bullshit from anyone. He couldn't help it. If someone hurt him, he would try to hurt them back ten times worse. Several times, teachers and other students had had to pull him off Draco Malfoy, whom Harry had been trying to pound into the ground. Usually it was Malfoy who'd started it: lately his favourite pastime was insulting Sirius or Molly Weasley or Harry's parents. And each time Harry's blood would boil and he would be on top of the blubbering, stupid git, trying to hurt every single inch of him that he could...  
  
Detentions would be given, points deducted, and he would be yelled at. He would glare into Draco's bloodied face, and Draco would glare right back, a smirk plastered in place. Egging Harry on for next time. Only the detentions weren't making the anger in his veins subside. They weren't erasing the pain he felt in his heart, in his mind, in every inch of him. Sirius' death was too much to bear...  
  
Harry shook himself. Tried to rid the images of the archway from his mind. Of the pain he'd felt when Voldemort had posessed him. Of Lucius Malfoy staring Harry in the eye – daring to stare Harry in the eye - demanding he obey. Harry shuddered. He hadn't saved Sirius...  
  
Suddenly, there came a noise at the door. Harry's eyes snapped open and his body tensed, froze. He couldn't be caught in here. He was just going to run and hide in a stall, when the heavy wooden door creaked open, and a small girl trudged inside. Her shock of red hair was the first thing to cause Harry a slight sense of relief.  
  
Ginny looked up and started. Harry smiled uncertainly in spite of himself.  
  
_"Harry?"  
_  
Harry raised a hand and waved slightly, aware of how stupid he must look. He was also suddenly aware of how untidy his hair was.  
  
Ginny's gaze flickered from side to side, cautious, as though she was looking or watching for someone. She looked up at Harry slowly, disbelief and questions in her chocolate brown eyes. They were really quite large, Harry noticed. And pretty. Although she was looking at him as though he was the weirdest thing she'd ever seen.  
  
"Um, what're you doing in here, then? Generally I don't permit boys in the room while I'm pissing."  
  
Harry's eyes grew wide and he tried not to laugh. His smile faded and he shrugged. "I come in here to...think."  
  
Ginny snorted. "To think?" She gave him the same appraising look that Dumbledore had given him earlier that morning. "Why in here? It's a girls' toilet after all...or have you gone and broken your glasses again?" She smirked and her eyes twinkled.  
  
Harry shrugged again, hating himself for looking so dumb. "No one comes in here really," he answered slowly. "So I'm almost always guaranteed a little bit of privacy, you see."  
  
The youngest Weasley folded her arms across her chest and surveyed the wizard standing before her. Her red hair was wild and framed her fair, freckled face in red, bushy glory. She slowly nodded, apparently digesting the information well. "Yeah, I suppose it would be a good place," she concluded after a bit of length.  
  
Harry wished it wasn't so warm in the room.  
  
"But," she added. "What d'you need to think about to be in here all alone? I mean – why Harry, you're crying!"  
  
Harry swore inwardly and quickly removed the tears – a little too quickly – from his face. "It's nothing," he insisted, wiping the wet away with one of the sleeves of his robes. "I poked myself in the eye, is all..."  
  
But Ginny sensed a lie. "Harry, is something wrong?"  
  
Harry was trembling. The room had suddenly gone very cold. His hands shook and he fought to keep them concealed in the fabric of his robes. He needed a way out.  
  
"Listen," he stammered. "I – I've got to get going to thing...the wahatchamacallit...potions detention..."  
  
Ginny looked at him as though he were mad.  
  
"I've just got to go."  
  
Harry swept out of the room, leaving a very suspicious cloud in his wake.

-------

The Slytherin common room was unusually chilly. It was always chilly, mind you, but that night it was bloody freezing. It didn't help that it was made almost entirely out of miserable stone, either.  
  
Draco Malfoy blew some hot air into his cupped hands and observed Pansy Parkinson as she knelt on the floor, stoaking the fire that had been growing fainter for the past hour.  
  
"Leave it," he said sharply. "That's a House Elf's job."  
  
Pansy smiled faintly and remained at the fire, holding her hands out for warmth. The flame's light flickered eerily around the common room, across the lanterns hanging from chains on the ceiling (which were now dark), casting rays of light all along the floor, and dancing evilly along the rough, damp stone walls. Dungeons were like that.  
  
"It's so bloody _cold_ in here."  
  
"Unusual for September, yeah," Draco answered, not really caring. He had been in colder places than this. He leaned casually against a table, head cocked to one side, the merest trace of a smile playing across his pink lips. Sitting in chairs on either side of him were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, both of whom were as massive as ever and indulging themselves in cauldron cakes and Fizzing Whizbees. All were wearing their winter robes to keep warm. Although the fire was now roaring (thanks to Pansy), the common room remained Alaska.  
  
"Did you see Potter in potions today?" Draco asked after a few moments of silence.  
  
"Bloody idiot's always storming out of one class or another," Pansy answered, settling her large frame into a cross-legged position on the floor. "He never shuts up, does he? Always has to turn the heads his way."  
  
"Pissing me off now more than ever," Draco said through clenched teeth. His eyes narrowed into slits. "How _dare _he land my father in Azkaban..."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle grunted in agreement.  
  
Draco's pale hands were balled into fists. He had hated Potter since the bastard had embarrassed him in front of their whole year the first day of term. His hate had grown rapidly with each year as well, seeing all the glory Potter got, watching him get away with everything, the center of attention always being Harry fucking Potter...but the issue of his father being thrown into that wizard prison was his breaking point. This time, Potter had gone way too far.  
  
"If Voldemort doesn't kill him," Draco vowed. "Then I certainly will. I swear to god."  
  
Pansy looked frightened at the mention of the Dark Lord: her eyes grew wide and she jumped slightly.  
  
"Oh, you needen't be such a wuss," Draco hissed at her. "Unless you're not really on his side?"  
  
Pansy tutted and threw the blond boy a withering look. "Shut up, Draco, you _know_ I am."  
  
Goyle chewed loudly on a cauldron cake.  
  
A few more minutes passed by in moody silence.  
  
"You know," Crabbe grunted, his mouth full of cake. "Potter's got detention with Snape every night this week."  
  
"Congratulations Crabbe, you've formed a complete sentence," Draco said hotly. "What the fuck is your bloody point?"  
  
"Touchy, touchy," Pansy almost whispered.  
  
"Well," Crabbe went on thickly, putting his food own long enough to crack his large knuckles. "He'll be walking back to his common room every night...alone."  
  
Draco's eyes lit up. He sat in thought, chewing on his bottom lip for a few minutes. "What ever shall we do with this?"  
  
Pansy's laughter was answer enough.  
  
"What time is it?" Draco snapped, his face a sinister smile.  
  
"Around eight," Goyle drawled, checking his watch.  
  
"I'm too lazy right now," Draco said. "We've got all week, though, haven't we? I say one night, we go wait for our friend and...let him know how we're feeling."  
  
Pansy smiled, looking very much like an unusually happy banshee. "I can always stand watch."  
  
_You could always sit on Potter and kill him right there,_ Draco thought savagely. Instead, he nodded at her.  
  
"How about Friday?"  
  
"Friday it is."

-------


	4. Lashing Out

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
-------  
  
Chapter 4: Lashing Out  
  
Thursday arrived in a frenzy of tiredness and rain. The skies had cleared up earlier that afternoon and the ceiling of the great Hall was a staggering mixture of orange, purple and red; tinged with blue in the center, suggesting an upcoming cloudless night. Professor Sinistra would be delighted.  
  
A large babble of talk had broken out over the students, for Dumbledore had announced not five minutes into dinner that the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be filled by none other than Reumus Lupin once more. Some people had cheered and raised their goblets in a salute, and others had looked quite frightened, but at least Dumbledore would be able to stop filling in like he had been for the past three weeks and get back to his office.  
  
Ron poked uncertainly at his plate of food with his fork as though examining something potentially dangerous.  
  
"What _is_ this...beef? Chicken? Dog?"  
  
Harry snorted into his potatoes.  
  
Hermione, who was reading from her Ancient Runes textbook, looked up hopelessly at Ron and rolled her eyes. "It's pork chop pie, Ron. Didn't you hear Dumbledore in D.A.D.A. telling us all he'd added it to the menu?"  
  
Ron shot her a glare. "I was busy reading the new Zonko's catalog, remember? You should know, you spent the whole class sending me notes telling me that if I didn't behave I'll go nowhere in life because I don't have a proper education..."  
  
Hermione tutted and retreated back behind her book, muttering. Ron raised his eyebrows at her and pushed his plate away, searching for something better.  
  
"What d'you think about it, Harry?" he asked, pulling a platter of steaks towards him.  
  
Harry, who had sunk into a kind of blank trance, came back to reality and stared at Ron. "Huh?"  
  
"Lupin," Ron repeated, biting into a portion of meat and chewing loudly. "Whaa you fink 'bout 'em commim back?"  
  
Harry wished Ron would shut up. He shrugged. "It's really great...I mean, he couldn't get a job anywhere else, could he?"  
  
Ron nodded and continued eating. Harry was glad; he really didn't feel like talking. Dumbledore's news had caught him off-guard. Sure Lupin was the best teacher they'd ever had, but every time Harry laid eyes on the (as far as he considered him), last Marauder, he felt a horrible stab of guilt, loneliness and sadness...he reminded Harry of Sirius. Harry picked at his potatoes, suddenly not hungry anymore. Glancing up at the staff table, the teachers were all talking quietly amongst themselves (with the exception of Snape, who was absent). The weight o the silence around him was threatening to crush him. Things were like this now: every time people near him stopped speaking, Sirius entered Harry's thoughts. Then with Sirius came images of the graveyard...Wormtail's severed, bleeding arm...Bellatrix Lestrange daring to look Neville in the face and gloat over torturing his parents into insanity...Harry's bleeding hands as broken glass cut into his skin while he hurled things around Dumbledore's office, screaming...  
  
"Harry, are you all right? You're all pale and shaky."  
  
Hermione was looking at Harry, her brown eyes filled with concern. Ron was still eating.  
  
Harry hastily folded his trembling hands into his lap and forced a painful smile onto his face. Unfortunately, it came out as more of a grimace. Hermione looked at him in something that looked like pity.  
  
"Will you be OK?"  
  
"I'm fine," Harry lied. "I'm OK, you don't need to worry."  
  
The girl looked unconvinced. She closed her book and took to staring off into space, trailing a finger around the rim of her goblet.  
  
Harry's ears picked up the sound of Draco Malfoy behind him, above the noisy din of the Great Hall. He turned slightly so he could get a view of the boy, not really sure he wanted to see whatever it was that he was going on about. Most likely it wouldn't be something good.  
  
Malfoy was laughing about something and waving his right arm around in a way that might have suggested he was miming being in a duel. Next, he seemed to freeze, then fall gracefully backwards off his seat amidst roars of laughter. Pansy Parkinson's ear-wrenching shriek was the most audible and with a wave of intense anger, Harry realized that Malfoy was miming Sirius' death.  
  
"Oh no Harry, _don't!_"  
  
Harry didn't hear Hermione's terrified warning. Suddenly he was standing and then Malfoy was in front of him. Anger pulsed through Harry with such intensity he wanted to scream. Instead, his fist came into contact with Malfoy's jaw and the blond boy was on the floor. He had his wand out, but Harry was ready.  
  
_"P-petrificus Totalus!"_  
  
Dodging Malfoy's spell, Harry clambered onto the boy and began to punch every inch of his face with as much strength as he could muster. Screams erupted from all over the Great Hall and he wasn't even half aware of strong arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him off the sobbing, bleeding boy in front of him. Harry was shouting as he was being pulled from the room, still putting up a terrific fight against whomever it was that was holding him.  
  
_"Don't you dare make fun of Sirius again! I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"  
_  
-------  
  
Severus Snape had emerged out of a side door and into the Great Hall just in time to see Potter stand up from the Gryffindor table and proceed to attack the stupid Slytherin. His headache was making him as sour as ever and he pinched the bridge of his nose again before striding over to where Potter was beating the living shit out of Malfoy. _Whoa._ If he had had a classmate that unstable, he'd have been sure to provoke him as seldom as he could. Sometimes he wondered if Malfoy liked getting beaten up, then he wondered if Potter liked the attention of being the one to throw the first punch.  
  
Malfoy had tried to freeze Potter's limbs up - admirable attempt - Snape himself would have personally chosen a hex with two or three syllables...like Stupefy...much quicker to say.  
  
Malfoy was yelling. So was Potter. Snape stooped over - aware of how the students tried to move away from him - and grabbed the black-haired boy around the waist. Holy shit, he must have been angry; he was struggling with what felt like every ounce of strength in his body. Which was a surprising amount.  
  
The teachers were swarming: McGonagall was hoisting the blubbering Malfoy to his feet, Madame Pomphrey was scurrying out of the Great Hall, Dumbledore was following her, and Flitwick was trying to restore order. Hagrid eventually took over for him and his booming voice dominated the noise in the room, bringing it almost down to silence. Snape hated every single person in Hogwarts at that moment for daring to cause such a ruckus when his head hurt so badly. He pulled the screaming boy out into the Entrance Hall and pushed him roughly against a stone pillar. For a moment Harry's eyes were panicked, then they quickly changed to confusion when he saw who it was.  
  
_"Shut up!"_ Snape hissed. "Potter - stop squarming like a goddamn idiot! You are in serious trouble. Twenty points from Gryffindor for making it so hard for me to get you out here! Now, we are going to proceed to the Headmaster's office and you will make _sure_ that I do not have to lay my hands on you again, or I'll take every point in that bloody hourglass!"  
  
Potter's emerald eyes were filled with furious tears, turning them into pools of hate. His hair...well...it was always messy. Snape straightened and shot Potter his best murderous glare, which got the boy moving. None spoke; both were seething.  
  
Something was definitely wrong with Potter. Snape had seen it immediately when Harry had arrived at Hogwarts for his sixth year. He was fighting more times a day with Malfoy than Snape made fun of Longbottom in a month. His grades, from what Dumbledore had told him, were falling steadily. He looked awful: he was paler than usual and there were dark circles under his eyes, which had taken on a sort of...haunted look. He ate less, talked less, laughed less...yes, something was definitely wrong.  
  
The stone gargoyles were in front of them now. The halls were quite silent.  
  
He rolled his eyes irritably. _What am I, a bloody councilor?_ "Puking Pastille." _God, those things taste good?_ He hated Dumbledore's passwords. What did the old coot do, use up all the names for sweets and start over again? The two silently ascended the moving staircase and, without knocking, Snape pushed Potter into the gleaming office.  
  
Dumbledore was stroking Fawkes and looking out a window, and did not look at either of them as they entered.  
  
"Ah, Severus. Please, both of you take a seat. I trust Minerva and young Malfoy will be here shortly."  
  
Potter looked like he'd rather stick his head into a bag of eels than sit down, but he plopped himself moodily into one of the chairs near the Headmaster's desk nonetheless. Snape cleared his throat.  
  
"I have to stay, sir?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at the potion's master. "I think it would be best if you did. I need to speak with you anyway."  
  
_Great, another speech. Fucking brilliant.  
_  
Snape's onyx eyes narrowed to slits. He turned and focused his attention on Potter instead. Hoping Dumbledore would not interfere, he rounded on the boy.  
  
_"What did you think you were doing, Potter?"_ he spat, glaring at the young wizard.  
  
Harry cast a filthy look into the fireplace. "Malfoy was making fun of Sirius."  
  
"I don't care if Malfoy was making fun of your sodding _mother_, acting as you did was totally inappropriate! Nor is your excuse sufficient enough! I am growing quite weary, and so is Professor McGonagall, of your idiocy. Both of us would love to retain some points for our houses by the end pf the year, or have punishments not occurred in that pampered little celebrity brain of yours? Have my detentions all week not been making you even _consider_ the fact that speaking and acting out of turn come with consequences? I daresay --"  
  
The door opened and all heads turned as Professor McGonagall and Draco Malfoy entered, both looking equally as angry.  
  
Dumbledore pointed to a chair across from Harry. "Sit." There was no twinkle in his eyes. Malfoy sat.  
  
"Potter," Professor McGonagall said harshly, her eyes boring holes into the boy. "Firstly, let me take fifty points from Gryffindor and condemn you to a week's worth of detentions starting tomorrow at six o'clock with Argus Filch. Secondly, I am absolutely ashamed at the moment to admit to the fact that you are in my house! What on _earth_ - "  
  
"Thank you, Minerva, Severus has already seen to shouting at Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interrupted. He looked at Snape expectantly.  
  
"Fifty points from Slytherin," Snape said grudgingly. "But twenty points more for that quick attempt at spell work, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
Harry opened his mouth furiously, and then closed it again. He looked at Malfoy with some satisfaction instead: his jaw was bruising, his nose was rather large and showed signs of bleeding, his eyes were puffing up and his lip looked like it might have seen some of Pomphrey's healing salve.  
  
Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes at Snape and set her jaw. Dumbledore looked very troubled.  
  
"Boys," he said. "This fighting cannot go on. It simply cannot. We have tried to teach you. We have deducted points, given detentions...but causing a brawl like that in the middle of dinner reflected poorly on yourselves and your houses. It made you two look horrible. It inconvenienced the teachers, the students, and me from my delightful pork chop pie might I add. The light you shed on yourselves was most disturbing. I know both of you are in different houses, have different morals, different thoughts and feelings towards one another, - " And here his eyes flickered to the faces of the two professors in the room. - "But it in no way provides a sound excuse for the poor behavior you displayed."  
  
Harry and Draco were glaring at each other as though wishing desperately that daggers would shoot from their eyes and pierce the other. Harry couldn't look at Dumbledore. As much as he loved seeing Malfoy injured, the Headmaster's words brought shame to him. His cheeks were suddenly tinged with red. His shoulders slumped and his chest heaved with retained anger. Harry was only half aware of the stinging and biting pain of his bruised and badly bleeding knuckles.  
  
"Now," Dumbledore continued, walking behind his desk and sitting down. "We can do this the easy way or the difficult way. The smart and therefore easy path would be to cease fighting on all levels entirely."  
  
_Is that possible?_ Harry thought savagely.  
  
"The hard way, if you boys will be so arrogant as to choose, will be one hundred points each from your houses no exceptions, a month's detention and suspension of privileges. This would include forfeiting your positions on the house Quidditch teams, Hogsmeade visits, and etcetera. Now, have I made myself clear?"  
  
"Yes," Harry and Draco muttered.  
  
"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, will you show Mr. Malfoy out? Professor Snape, Harry, a further word if you please."  
  
Professor McGonagall shot one last horrible look at Harry before prodding Malfoy out of the room. Dumbledore surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.  
  
"Harry, I hate doing this."  
  
Harry found an area just left of Dumbledore's desk very interesting.  
  
"It is quite deserved, however," Snape said smugly. "The both of them would be expelled if they were in _my_ school."  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, look at me."  
  
_Look at you. You want me to look at you after you ignored me all last year...  
_  
Harry's insides clenched and he ripped his gaze away from the floor and slowly met Dumbledore's eyes. They seemed to be searching him from the inside out. Looking for something. Harry was scared, uncomfortable, furious.  
  
He was everything.  
  
He wanted to cry. To break something. To scream.  
  
"Harry, is there something you need to tell me? Did something happen that's influencing this behavior? You never used to be like this until Sirius passed. Was it Sirius, Harry?"  
  
_Are you purposely trying to get me going? Why are you talking about Sirius? Why?  
_  
Harry groaned inwardly. His eyes grew cloudy, unwilling to let anyone see into his soul. His stomach felt like it needed to expel its contents.  
  
"No, sir."  
  
Snape tutted from beside him. "Of course not. He's being valiant and sparing us further misery, how Gryffindor of him."  
  
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes still locked on Harry's.  
  
_He's trying to get to me. To break me. No, I won't let it happen._  
  
"I'm fine, sir."  
  
"You are not fine, Harry."  
  
"His beloved godfather just died, what do you expect?"  
  
_"Thank you, Severus."  
_  
Harry was on his feet. "I'm fine! I'm OK! Nothing happened! Can I go now, sir?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed and looked sadly at the boy. "Very well. Straight to your dormitory, Harry."  
  
Harry almost sprinted the length of the office. He wrenched the door open and was gone, blinded by his furious tears.

As soon as the door closed Dumbledore ran his hands over his tired face. "Severus...what am I going to do?"  
  
Snape's eyes widened in surprise. Dumbledore asking _his_ advice? This wasn't in the job description, taking care of insolent little wankers and playing the councilor...he would have to be sure to send Dumbledore an anonymous hate letter later...wow, Albus asking _him?  
_  
"I would suggest writing to the families," Snape said icily. "But the Dursley's wouldn't give two shits if Potter died let alone if he's behaving in school, and the Malfoy's...well...I don't think any owl knows where to find a large group of Death Eaters evading the Ministry."  
  
Dumbledore smiled sadly. "True."  
  
"The idiot's need to be watched at all times," Snape went on. "At least, Potter does; he's the one doing the physical things more often than not..."  
  
The old wizard nodded. "I think," he said, apparently coming out of a deep thought. "That Harry is keeping something from us."  
  
"Albus, the boy could fill volumes with the schemes and things he's keeping from us. Spare me a further headache and elaborate, please."  
  
"His past," Dumbledore said, a small twinkle betraying his amusement at the man before him. "How we was treated. What these past six years have done to him."  
  
"He'll be fine."  
  
"There are danger signs, Severus."  
  
"He's a bloody Gryffindor! He can take care of himself!"  
  
"He has had to endure things that fully grown wizards have not had to!"  
  
"He doesn't want help. In other words, he wants us to fuck off."  
  
"I cannot let him - "  
  
_"And who do you think will help?"_ Severus was on his feet now too. "Me? Minerva? _Sybil,_ for god's sake? Have you ever gotten past your unfortunate love for this child to see how pompous, bigheaded and moronic this boy is? I would rather drink Stinskap than even consider wasting my precious free time with that...that..."  
  
Dumbledore looked crestfallen. Snape fell silent, hating Potter with every fibre in his body. He stared defiantly at the Headmaster.  
  
"You can think what you like of Harry," Albus said quietly.  
  
"I am very much obliged to," Snape hissed.  
  
"I think, however," the old man said, his eyes turning cold. "That you need to get over this childish hate of him."  
  
Snape gawked.  
  
"Any disagreement you had with James Potter was in the past. The fact that Harry is James' son shouldn't prejudice you against this boy. He did nothing to you. If I am not mistaken, it was you who insinuated the hate and arguments between the two of you. I do not mean to point fingers, Severus, but this feud is almost as silly as Potter's feud with Malfoy."  
  
Snape glared mutinously at the Headmaster, at loss for words.  
  
"You will keep tabs on Harry and report any disturbing behavior to me. Talk to him if you can, _in a nice way please_...you're fairly observant, you'll be perfect." Dumbledore sat back in his chair and put his fingertips together below his chin.  
  
Snape suddenly felt like crying. His free time...what little he had left...would be swallowed by that goddamn child. His walls buckled even more and he would have liked to do nothing better than to run to the comfort of his office and summon a bottle of Firewhisky from his liquor cabinet... The pain in his head gave a particularly nasty lurch and he closed his eyes, once more pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"Mmmmm?"  
  
"You aren't saying anything."  
  
"I am aware of that."  
  
The potions master opened his eyes and studied Dumbledore wearily. "Fine. Whatever. I am going to go down to my office now and get horribly drunk...perhaps that will help me forget the pain. May I leave? _Sir?"_  
  
Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "Certainly. I would ask to join you but I fear I might do something in a drunken state that I might regret later."  
  
Snape shook his head and Flooed himself out of the old git's office.

-------


	5. The First Slytherin Revenge

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

-------

Chapter 5: The First Slytherin Revenge  
  
Professor Snape sat at his desk in his classroom, punishing a group of fifth years by scathingly grading their papers. Leafing through them all, he shook his head irritably and sighed, not up to this tedious task whatsoever. His liquor cabinet was calling to him from somewhere in the depths of his quarters, but he knew that getting pissed would have to wait. Silently he rewarded himself for not hexing any of his students yet...then remembered it was only September. He would have to exercise more control to keep that record at zero.  
  
Sniggering, he recalled the class of fifth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students he had had earlier the previous day: how they had cowered. How they had feared him. How he had assigned them two feet of parchment on the uses of Aconite and Dragon's Blood. How they were all failing it. Miserably.  
  
He couldn't wait to hand them all back. Actually, he always dreaded the very thought of waking up in the morning to corridors filled with young brats, but whenever he was given the opportunity to punish any of them, then his day went a little better. After all, currently sitting in his high- backed chair looking thoroughly sinister, he was the mean one. The Professor that scared the living shit out of anyone who had the misfortune to cross his path. He always enjoyed walking the halls and seeing the students flatten themselves against walls and statues of amour just to give him a wide berth. There might have been room for two carriages to pass between the students and himself. Oh, how he savored it.  
  
Picking up yet another unfortunate piece of parchment, he began to read. _"Aconite is a plant and it goes by two names and they are called..."_ He felt the distant throbbing of an approaching migraine. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and tried not to gnash his teeth at the assignment before him. _Who was this moron?_ He would have checked the name at the top of the essay but opening his eyes would probably hurt too much. _Damn you all,_ he thought. _May you all rot in hell._  
  
There came a hesitant knock on the door. Snape sighed irritably, his concentration (what was left of it), broken. This was how it had always been done: the student would stand outside his door, trying to muster up the courage to knock. And Snape would wait a little...just maddeningly long enough to reduce the young idiot to a sniveling pile of insecurity by the time he said, "Enter."  
  
And so Snape waited. He drew a large 'D' on (he checked the name), Zacharias Smith's pathetic excuse for an essay and composed himself, trying to recall to whom it was that he'd given detention to. His mind was a little foggy at the moment. He blamed the earlier three glasses of wine. After that little episode in Dumbledore's office, we just wanted to fall over and sleep. And never wake up. Glancing at the paper again, he felt this grade was justified. He didn't need to bother reading it, seeing as it wasn't even a foot long; let alone two.  
  
"Enter."  
  
The door opened with a creak and Harry Potter slowly trudged in. Ah yes, the little prat had another detention. Snape's eyes grew malicious. The boy was looking at his feet, hair wild, his robes hanging loosely around him; book bag slung precariously over one shoulder. Perfect. His sniveling pile of insecurity had arrived.  
  
"Close the door you idiot boy."  
  
Harry pushed the door shut a little too roughly. The resounding bang rang through the corridors. _Damn this spawn of hell._ Snape would have to remember to deduct more House Points later on in class, just to annoy him.  
  
"I suggest you _not_ try to reduce the dungeons to crumbled stone next time, Potter." He whispered coldly, glared daggers at the boy. "Look at me when I am speaking to you."  
  
Harry lifted his head almost unwillingly. Snape was suddenly startled to see – were those tear marks? – an expression of utmost brokenness on the young wizard's face. Surely even _he_ hadn't inflicted enough horror on him yet; the boy hadn't been in his room for more than a minute. Reason number two; maybe his skills were just getting _that_ good.  
  
"Something the matter, Potter?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "No, sir."  
  
"Are you sure?" Snape's lip curled horribly and Harry was tempted to dig a trench right there and dive for cover. "Or has the position of The Golden Boy finally gotten to be too much for you all of a sudden? Did the Headmaster's speech get to you? After all, you weren't let off easily this time, were you, boy?"  
  
Harry flinched as though struck, but remained silent; but his emerald green eyes flashed furiously. His jaw was set and his hands, which were trembling vaguely, were balled into fists. Just how Snape liked him. Provoked but unable to present an outburst. More House Points could be taken away very easily if Harry dared to even breathe the wrong way.  
  
Snape sniggered. He stood from his chair and drew himself up to full height, staring down his hooked nose at the moronic excuse for a boy in front of him. _Stupid git._ How _dare_ he look at him that way, with so much defiance in his eyes? He would make him pay.  
  
"I want you to scrub cauldron's for me tonight, Potter," Snape said smugly. Harry's shoulder's slumped a little. Snape pointed to the back of the darkened classroom where stacks of them balanced against the very back wall. "A dirty cauldron can make potions poisonous," he went on. "And I seriously doubt whether my students would fancy a visit to Madame Pomphrey. I've been meaning to scour them for a while now, but seeing as you're conveniently here, - " Harry eyed him with disgust. – "You can end my misery and do it for me."  
  
Harry counted. There was about thirty there. His head throbbed painfully and he resisted the urge to rub his hands over his scar. He wished someone would make Voldemort happy...anywhere...bring him ice cream or _something_...just end his temper. Harry shook himself, ridding his head of the image of The Dark Lord lounging on a bench in some sunny park, licking at an ice cream cone, surrounded by happily chattering Death Eaters.  
  
Snape's eyes were on him, Harry could feel it. Looking up quickly, his potions master was studying him deeply as though trying to pry something out of him. A particularly nasty wrench of pain seared through his head and Harry hissed with pain and clapped his hands to his scar, unable to stop them. Snape was silent.  
  
"Sorry," Harry said quietly, not sure of why he was apologizing. His arms dropped to his sides and he tried to control his ragged breathing.  
  
Snape's onyx eyes were fixed into his. "Cleaning supplies are in the back cupboard," he said strangely, not tearing his gaze from the boy's face. "Report to my office when you're through."  
  
He turned around with a swish of robes and disappeared through the door at the back of the room.

Around eleven, Harry stood and surveyed the work he'd just finished. Thirty gleaming cauldrons were stacked once more at the back of the dimly lit dungeon, their polished outsides glinting in the candlelight. His back ached terribly and he groaned in pain as his muscles screamed in protest when he stretched. His hands were red raw and bleeding from the cleaner and he threw the rag into a sink. He severely wanted to do his job half-assed, just to piss Snape off, then thought against it. Whatever Snape would do to him later would probably be much worse. Sighing and closing his eyes in severe tiredness, he knocked sharply on the office door.  
  
"Enter."  
  
Harry hated the way Snape said that.  
  
The Professor sat on a black leather chair, a massive book on his lap and a bottle of Firewhisky on the table beside him. It was almost empty. Harry looked at the man, slightly surprised.  
  
Snape noticed. "How else do you think I stay sane in this hellhole, teaching insignificantly useless children a beautiful and delicate art?" He stared back at Harry as though daring him to retaliate. His eyes looked oddly misty.  
  
Harry waited.  
  
"Have you finished?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"All of them?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Clean as dandelion heads I hope for your sake, otherwise it'll be a week's worth of detentions for your impudence."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Snape gave Harry a look of uttermost loathing. "Sit down."  
  
Harry was taken aback. "Sit? -- Where?"  
  
"Anywhere, twit, or I'll hex you. I am not in the mood for stupid questions!"  
  
Harry hurriedly sat himself on the floor as far away from his Professor as deemed possible. He had no bloody idea what Snape could want with him at this hour. His detention was served; he should be back in Gryffindor tower, complaining to Ron and Hermione...  
  
Snape cleared his throat, wearing an expression that might have suggested that he'd prefer Harry to sit anywhere but on his floor. "Your scar."  
  
The boy's eyes grew wide and immediately clouded with suspicion. "What about my scar?"  
  
"It hurt, did it not? Right before I assigned you your task? Or do you just like grabbing at your forehead from time to time? Does that make you feel special?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Yes, it hurt. _Sir."_  
  
Snape sniffed. "Do you want to tell me about it?" _Dear lord, what am I saying?_  
  
Harry almost laughed. Imagined himself and Snape talking merrily about Voldemort over tea. "I couldn't see anything. I just...felt his mood."  
  
Snape nodded. Harry nodded back, trying not to drift off.  
  
"And that's all?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Very well. Get out."  
  
Harry got out. In record time. Snape shook his head and cursed Albus Dumbledore. He hated the way that that sodding wizard automatically assumed that he would take on any job or duty that he asked him to. No consideration.

Draining the last of his Firewhisky, the book slipped from his thin, pale fingers and he slept, where he dreamed he was being chased around Hogwarts by Professor McGonagall who was wearing a t-shirt with Harry's face on it.

---------


	6. Flashbacks and Voices

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
-------  
  
Chapter 6: Flashbacks and Voices  
  
_ Haze. Nothing but haze. Clouds of billowing fog, surrounding him, choking him, freezing him to the bone. It was dark. So very dark. Harry held his hands out in the mist; eyes open wide and staring into nothingness. Trying to find a place in the emptiness, trying to find somewhere to go.  
  
To belong.  
  
Falling now. Plunging through the screaming winds and clouds, though the darkness onto...  
  
...His bed in Privet Drive.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and was immediately consumed by pain. It blinded him and he clutched at his scar, rocking backwards and forwards slightly under the threadbare blanket on his bed, as though the motion would help stifle the hurt.  
  
Another nightmare. He had been expecting one: he was afraid to sleep lately because of the fear of the visions waiting beyond his consciousness; waiting to play through his mind, to haunt him, to cause him to wake up screaming...and pay the price.  
  
His room was bathed in the eerie orange glow of the streetlights outside. Harry lay, suddenly frozen, his ears perked for any sounds beyond his room. He thought he'd heard something...shuffling...and realized with a stab of horror that he'd probably yelled in his sleep. He watched the shadows that danced around his walls with wide eyes, his breath very quiet...  
  
Footsteps.  
  
He glanced at the luminous hands on his bedside clock before removing his glasses.  
  
2:34 a.m.  
  
Yes, there was definitely noise on the other side of his door. His heart, already hammering wildly, leapt into his throat as his fear overtook him. He couldn't do anything to stop this. Hiding wouldn't work; he'd already tried that two weeks ago.  
  
The bolts began sliding back. Harry curled into a ball. The door opened with a soft creaking noise and his Uncle Vernon stood on the threshold.  
  
"What have I said," the man growled slowly, his voice raspy with sleep. "About waking my family at night with your moaning?" He walked in and slammed the door behind him.  
  
Harry's emerald eyes were wide with terror. He could just make out the blurred, distorted form of his housecoat-swathed uncle who was steadily drawing nearer through the darkness.  
  
"What have I told you about disturbing us, eh? Freak?"  
  
A hand shot out of the gloom that Harry's poor eyesight didn't catch until he was hit on the side of the head so hard that stars erupted in front of his eyes and an odd whamming noise pierced through his ear.  
  
Another hand on Harry's head. "Freak!" And another.  
  
"You worthless piece of shit." More hands, more stars. Harry's head was bursting with pain, which seemed to be swirling around his brain, clutching and pulling at every piece of skin, bone, and vein.  
  
Suddenly he was being pulled out of his bed and was thrown against a wall, knocking Hedwig's cage over onto the floor. The owl was jerked awake and began to scream in fright, flapping her wings madly against the bars. Vernon howled.  
  
Harry was pleading, his uncle was speaking very fast, and the pain was growing.  
  
"Why do you think they dump you here every summer, boy? Because they hate you. You are nothing!"  
  
Harry was thrown against the wall again. His arm gave a particularly horrible burst of pain and the boy yelled. Crumpled to the floor.  
  
The older man was breathing like he'd been forced to run a marathon. He kicked at his nephew with nothing but hatred in his eyes. Caught the boy in the stomach. Kicked him again. And again, and again, and again, and again...dragged the boy up and slapped his face a little more.  
  
"You are not important!"  
  
Sobbing.  
  
Dragging.  
  
Dragging down the stairs. So much pain. Limbs colliding with hardwood railings and steps and bits of wall.  
  
"You will stay in here for the rest of your god-forsaken summer," Vernon hissed, smacking him again. He dug his stubby fingers through Harry's hair and clutched. Drove the boy's head into the wall.  
  
The cupboard under the stairs loomed.  
  
"N-no...please...please!"  
  
Harry was thrown into the small space. The door was slammed shut. More bolts sliding into place. So much blackness. Thumping on the stairs.  
  
Silence.  
  
Haze...nothing but haze..._  
  
-------  
  
Harry awoke, screaming. He fought against the darkness that was all around him, kicking, twisting -- then fell silent, breathing raggedly.  
  
_Oh god...Vernon would be back..._  
  
The hangings on his four-poster were suddenly ripped back and the space was flooded with light. Ron's alarmed face was before him.  
  
"Oh Merlin...Harry, are you all right?"  
  
Harry's head fell back onto his pillows and he sighed in sweet relief. He wasn't at his aunt and uncle's...he wasn't...it was OK...  
  
"My god, Harry, you're breathing like mad," Seamus observed sleepily from where he was crouched on the end of his own bed. "You're all pale, mate, are you OK?"  
  
Harry found his voice. "Nightmare," he mumbled, feeling very uncomfortable. "About my Uncle Ver --"  
  
_Oh shit._  
  
"Your uncle?" Ron asked, suddenly tense.  
  
"It was nothing," Harry answered quickly, plastering a smile onto his face. He checked himself to see if any bare bits of his skin were showing. They weren't. Good. The bruises hadn't even begun to heal yet.  
  
"Dreamt that my uncle thought I was a sandwich and he was chasing me around Snape's dungeons wearing Neville's grandmother's hat..."  
  
Seamus laughed. Neville had already fallen back asleep, though, and it appeared that Dean hadn't even woken up. The candles were extinguished and Seamus crawled back into his bed, but Ron sat on the edge of Harry's and looked at his friend through the dim.The full moon cast its light in through the window, bathing the room in pale, white light.  
  
_"What?"_ Harry asked, his insides clenching with...anger?  
  
"I dunno," Ron replied, looking uneasy. "I mean...you sent us a letter every three days saying you were fine...you _were_ fine though, weren't you Harry?"  
  
Harry couldn't believe it. He allowed his anger to swell inside him, even though a small voice in his head told him that Ron was just trying to help. _Whatever._ The boy had no idea! Absolutely no idea what it was like...he shouldn't be butting in on Harry's personal life, anyway...  
  
"No!" Harry said. "I mean, yes, I was fine, but no, nothing happened during the summer, Ron. I was OK. Those letters were true, the Dursley's treated me loads better this year because of you guys. It's just...the dream was scary, that's all. Having my uncle chase you would be a terrifying thing, considering...and...well, Snape's dungeons aren't all that appealing, either..."  
  
Ron sat in silence for a minute, but seemed to buy it. He slowly grinned at his friend and shook his head as he crawled back under his covers. "I guess so."  
  
The redhead fell silent and quickly filled the room with snores. Harry was still breathing very fast. He lay with his eyes scrunched tightly shut, his hands kneading his scar, trying desperately to rid the memories of the summer from his head. Of all the false letters he'd had to send the Order, saying he was fine...of the dark. The dark.  
  
The fear of the dark.  
  
_"They all hate you, boy! You are worthless! You are nothing!"_  
  
Harry's pain escalated inside of him until he felt as though it was being pumped through his veins, crawling over his skin, etching itself into his brain.  
  
_"You're nothing but a freak, Potter! Come fight me! Or are you too scared?"  
_  
_"Boy, clean the kitchen before we get back or you'll wish you'd never been born!"_  
  
_"Shut up, you stupid boy. Your aunt and uncle were gracious to take you in and act so kindly towards you! You are nothing but a scrounger! A layabout! A dirty and rotten mistake!"_  
  
Harry got up from his bed and walked soundlessly out into the dimly lit bathroom's. They were deserted. Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. Pale. Gaunt. Dark circles under his eyes. Ugly.  
  
A small sob escaped him. There was just so much pain. What was he going to do with so much pain? What would happen the next time someone crossed his path, when he had so much retained anger built up inside of him? He was like a walking volcano.  
  
Harry leaned against the cool stone wall and slowly slid down it until he was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. He closed his eyes. Breathed.  
  
"Breathe...just breathe...it will go away..."  
  
_No it won't. Are you stupid?  
_  
"No, no I'm not..."  
  
_Of course you are. You think this is something that will just vanish if you tell it to? How long has this been going on, Harry? Your whole life. For as long as you can remember. This will never go away. You are nothing._  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
A chuckle. _Fool. You are a living, walking pillar of agony. You need release, don't you? You've tried, though. Screaming doesn't help, Harry. Thinking bad thoughts doesn't help either, does it? You cannot help yourself. Or can you?_  
  
Harry looked up towards one of the sinks. Someone had left a razor lying on the white porcelain.  
  
_That's it, Harry. Very good. You might not be stupid after all. Go on, reach out. Take it. Show yourself some mercy.  
_  
Harry stood up shakily. Padded over to the sinks. Such an easy route to take...but did he want to go that far? No, no, of course he didn't. But maybe...just a little bit. Not too serious...  
  
The boy picked up the razor and ran a thumb across the blades. The cut was so quick and clean he didn't even feel the pain. As the crimson bubble appeared, a little bit of the hurt went with it. Harry smiled slightly...  
  
...And continued.  
  
-------  
  
That one was a little darker...heh heh Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, your comments are really appreciated! Thanks to all. More chapters coming.


	7. The Good and the Bad

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
-------  
  
Chapter 7: The Good and the Bad  
  
"Harry? _Harry?_ Hullo?"  
  
A hand was moving back and forth in front of his face.  
  
Harry jumped slightly and looked around. Ron and Hermione were watching him.  
  
"Oh! Sorry..."  
  
Ron shoveled a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth and chewed. "Didn't you get back to sleep last night after that nightmare? You look exhausted."  
  
"I _am_ exhausted," Harry told Ron, yawning. "I...er...I _did_ get back to sleep, actually...I just stayed up a little while and...thought..." Harry inwardly smiled. He felt great today. The difference between his mood right now and the mood he'd been in the night before was vast. And he loved it.

Ginny Weasley sat herself down beside Harry, her red hair bouncing. "Morning, all. This weekend will be welcomed with open arms." She poured herself some coffee.  
  
"I know," Hermione replied over her goblet of pumpkin juice. "It'll give me some time to get around to that Transfiguration essay we were assigned on Tuesday."

Ron rolled his eyes just as the owls began swooping into the Great Hall. Ginny gave a small gasp as a large tawny bird flew down in front of her with Hermione's copy of _The Daily Prophet_ clutched in its beak, narrowly missing landing in her mug. Hermione pushed a knut into its pouch.  
  
"Hey! We've got Lupin today, eh?" Ron said, his eyes brightening. _"Finally,_ I won't have to do nothing but _read_ for an hour and a half! No more_, 'There will be no need to talk!'"  
_  
"No more _hem hem,"_ Ginny giggled. "And no more _Decree from the High Inquisitor_ bullshit."  
  
"I'll never forget the look on that old toad's face when you told her you'd already read the book, Hermione," Ron said, grinning. "That was priceless..."  
  
Everyone began chatting and laughing, but Harry was far away from them all. He was busy looking over Hermione's shoulder at the Slytherin table, who were all smiling and waving at him as though he was an old friend of theirs. And then there was Draco, sitting in the middle of the group, waving away with the rest of them and laughing. Harry shot them all a filthy look and returned to staring at his clasped hands as Pansy's ear- splitting guffaw filled the room.

Something was up. Harry knew he was probably a sight for sore eyes, but that was no reason to start _waving_ at someone. Were they planning something? No, Draco wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his place on the Slytherin Quidditch team...but...

Harry's insides clenched and he suddenly went cold, like someone had poured a bucket of frigid water down his back. He carefully folded his arms in his lap and sighed. His morning had actually been good until the Slytherins had started acting weird like that.

_Forget it, it's nothing...they're probably just trying to get me going._

"Hey Harry," Ron said. His bowl was cleaned out and Hermione had already stood up.

"Hmmm?"

"We're going to go early to DADA...maybe we can talk to Lupin before class?"

Harry grinned. "Sure."

-------

Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't the first people to enter Defense Against the Dark Arts, however. Almost three-quarters of the class were already assembled, and were eagerly chatting; their books and wands at the ready.

Hermione smiled excitedly and practically dragged the two boys to their table at the front, earning a startled, "Oy!" from Ron.

Harry was rubbing the back of his neck as he sat down (Hermione's tugging had all but given him whiplash), and exchanged an exasperated glance with Ron. Hermione bobbed a few times in her chair.

"Oh, come off it!" she said in response to the two on either side of her. "It's _Lupin!_ Do you two realize the things we'll be learning this year?"

Ron groaned. "I'd rather not think about it."

The classroom was bright and airy, due to the gentle breeze that was coming in through the open windows. The office door was closed; Harry assumed that Professor Lupin was in there doing some last minute preparations, and decided not to bother him. Harry grinned again. He couldn't help it. The atmosphere was just too...happy.

Hermione was muttering and pouring over her books and Ron was etching a Chudley Cannons logo into his desk with an old quill. Harry looked around the room for any signs of change, but the only difference was the boxes lining the sides of the walls, which were all covered in a thick violet fabric. Other than that, the place looked quite normal.

"What'd you say, Ron?"

Ron looked up from his artwork, confused. "What, mate?"

"You said something," Harry replied impatiently. "Just now. You muttered about the noise."

Ron looked at Harry like he was mad. "Not me, Harry, sorry...you must have overheard someone else."

Harry was so sure...it had been right beside him. An odd voice, but certainly not a girl's, so it couldn't have been Hermione, and Parvati and Lavender were sitting right behind him.

"Did _you_ hear it, Hermione?"

"No," Hermione answered, not taking her eyes of her book.

"I heard a sort of hissing, though."

"Great," Ron said. "My mates are nutters."

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly, jabbing her quill just past Harry, near the wall. "It came from over there."

Harry looked. There was no one. Nothing, except one of the boxes draped in fabric. Harry started at it, and then unmistakably heard it again.

_"So very loud, isn't it? Don't the brats ever shut up?"_

Harry crouched on the floor and moved over to the wall. Gingerly he plucked the fabric away, and discovered closely fit metal bars. And something bright orange and black.

_"Who is it?"_

Harry jumped at the harsh voice and scrambled backwards, letting the cloth fall again. A strangled chuckle and the voice once more.

_"Come for a peek, I see?"_

Harry got over the initial shock of what he saw and was just about to back for another look when he caught sight of a weather-beaten brown shoe. His gaze traveled up the patched pant-leg, up along the old and battered suit jacket, and into Lupin's smiling face.

"Professor!"

"Hello, Harry," Professor Lupin said amusedly, pulling the boy up off the floor by his upper arm and drawing him into a hug. "I see you've met my Runespoor."

"Your -- what?"

Lupin chuckled. "My Runespoor. A three-headed serpent that many dark wizards fancy as pets. Each of the heads has a different job. Apparently it was speaking about you...I wouldn't know, I'm not the Parselmouth, but you caused it a great deal of hissing."

He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder and grinned before walking to the front of the room to a multitude of applause.

"Good morning, all!" the wizard said, beaming, raising his arms into the air as the students clapped and cheered loudly. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"Hear, hear!" Dean Thomas yelled.

"From what I was told," Lupin went on, leaning casually against the desk at the front. "You lot didn't learn much useful information last year, except for a select few, I daresay?"

The class broke into a storm about Umbridge, but the DA members present in the class exchanged significant glances.

"Yes, I was informed of the previous teacher who covered this subject," he said loudly, pacing the front of the room. "Also, of what the teacher attempted to do...and I must say I find this alarming."

The class went very quiet. Lupin stood still and surveyed them all seriously. "I must say, we won't be getting to anything really..._fun_...for quite some time. I have reasons for this, as does Headmaster Dumbledore. You lot had absolutely no training last year, again except for a select few, against anything a Dark Wizard could try to do to you using a wand. This, of course, means curses."

The man sat himself down on the top of the desk. He looked sadly at them all. "Last June showed me how very real our situation is. As you all know, the Dark Lord has returned to full power. Last year, while you could have been educated properly to help yourselves in the event of an emergency, you spent it reading useless books." He clapped his hands. "Now. What we are all going to tackle this year, for the most part, is the study of dueling."

Harry was staring at his table as though fascinated. _Please stop it_.

The class looked at one another nervously.

"No worries," Lupin said. "This won't be a repeat of the club you lot apparently had a few years ago, this will be as real as I can get it. Apart from any serious injuries. That is to say, wand backfiring, bad aim, etcetera."

For the rest of the period, Lupin had them all copy out diagrams and explained to them the theory of the duel. ("Of course, when you're actually doing it, the theory will matter very little, but it is still a fundamental part to learn.")

---

At the end of the period, Ron flexed his fingers and stuffed his quill moodily into his pocket. "Could have been a little better, don't you think?"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione scolded. "You heard him! He knows what he's talking about, Ron. It's important. And I think that whatever we can learn about how to defend ourselves is pretty damn welcome at this point!"

"I wasn't saying _that_," Ron said, walking out of the classroom after her. Harry was about to follow, but felt a hand slightly clasp on his arm. Harry yelped in pain and jerked away, his eyes flashing furiously.

Lupin stood before him, looking at Harry strangely. "Why Harry...are you all right? What happened?"

Harry resisted the urge to hold his arm. "I'm...er, well, it's nothing. Nothing, I was just startled."

Lupin's dark eyes didn't leave Harry's. "You trouble me, Harry."

Harry scowled. "I trouble _everyone._ What else is new?"

"I...I just wanted to say hello," the man said quietly. Sadly. "It' really good to see you again, Harry. I missed you...I'm so sorry we couldn't get you to Grimmauld Place sooner, but certain circumstances..."

He trailed off, but Harry knew he meant Dumbledore.

"Yeah," Harry said angrily, his temper getting the better of him. "Well I was fine, Professor. Absolutely fine. My summer was a blast at the Dursley's. You should know, you got my letters, right?"

He turned on his heels and stormed out of the classroom, breathing heavily.  
  
-------

Potions before lunch was absolutely horrible. Snape had assigned them all three feet of parchment on the Veritaserum potion, and had them all start brewing.

"This potion takes about a month to complete," he had sneered into the darkness as random crackles and pops emitted from the glowering fires beneath the simmering cauldrons. "So we'll be tied up for a very long period of time with this project. I expect no less than _total_ concentration and the _utmost_ behavior from you all, or I'll have you drink whatever poor samples you attempt to make; I really don't care what it does to you."

Harry had found it very hard to focus when the Slytherins spent the whole time sneaking in cheerful smiles and waves whenever Snape's back was turned. Twice he caught Crabbe and Malfoy doing it, but said nothing.  
  
"Lousy git," Ron snarled once they had packed away their cauldrons in a spare room off the potions classroom. "I'll bet he's so pissed off because Lupin's back, eh? And they hate each other."  
  
"Lupin doesn't hate Snape," Harry said quietly.  
  
"Seems like it to me," Ron muttered. "Why, has Lupin been giving you some private talks, Harry? Keeping things from us, are you?"  
  
_"Oh stop it!"_ Hermione said. Her hair was as wild as ever. "God...Ron, you make me want to throw up!"  
  
Harry fell back and let the two walk together. In a second he would have seized Ron's head and...he didn't want to think about it.  
  
Lunch was waiting in the Great Hall, but Harry wasn't hungry. The prospect of his last detention with Snape did nothing to improve his mood...and the odd Slytherin who would walk by, waving and smiling, didn't cause him much joy, either.  
  
He dreaded the night.

-------

His last detention with Snape was hardly as enjoyable as the one the previous night. Instead of having Harry clean cauldrons like he had been all week, Snape had simply stared at him at first.

"Anything wrong, Mr. Potter? You're looking a bit under the weather."

Harry had shrugged. "It happens, sir. Sometimes people get sick."

"I'm not in the mood," Snape had hissed. "I really have no clue what to do with you. I'd tell you to piss off if it wouldn't cause you so much joy. Instead..." He'd looked around the classroom. "You can sort out and re-organize my store cupboard."

And that's how it went.

Snape had noticed something, though. He knew the boy wasn't letting on to something, but he wasn't going to come right out and demand an answer. He had better things to do with his time than spend it with that bloody child.

Turns out, _bloody_ was quite correct.

It was nearing ten o'clock and Snape had come out to inspect Harry's work. "Alphabetically! Wow, Potter. Your brain comprehended the task. I must say I'm impressed."

Harry had turned to leave. Snape had grabbed his arm and a bit of the boy's robe had fallen back. Harry had also yelled in pain.

Snape was spellbound. He stood there, looking at Harry, who's green eyes were wide with shock, fear, anger, pain...everything. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen.

_"Mr. Potter, where are you going?"_

The boy had bolted.

-------

Harry ran through the dungeons. He ran so fast he could hear the wind rushing in his ears. He could also hear footsteps behind him, which would surely be Professor Snape's. Harry sped on, blinded by his...his...his what? Embarassment?

Harry paused by a doorway. Listened. Nothing. He wiped his brow and sighed, leaning against the wall to rest a little. He didn't know what to do.

_Snape knows. So he knows._

"Goddammit!" Harry kicked at the stone savagely and collapsed on the floor. He breathed angrily and wiped tears from his eyes. Snape would surely tell someone. And most likely it would be someone Harry didn't like. _He didn't care!_ He opened his mouth and screamed. He screamed so loudly that the corridors rang with the noise. With his frustration. "Why is nothing _normal?"_

"I'll tell you why," came a sudden voice. Harry started and looked around wildly.

Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of the hallway. "Because you did something to all of us, Potter. And when you do something like that to us, we will go to any lengths to retaliate."

Several Slytherins appeared at his side.

Harry stood up. Gripped his wand in his pocket.

"I told you you'd pay," Draco hissed. "Didn't I tell you?"

"You can't fight," Harry said, his voice shaking. "You'll - "

"_I_ can't," Draco said smugly. "But _they_ can. And they will."

He walked up to Harry then and pinned the boy against the wall. "And if you tell anyone who did this to you when they find you in the morning, if you so much as _utter_ a word about us, we'll make sure the Mudblood gets it next. And she'll get it far worse than you."

-------


	8. Into the Fire

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

Thanks, you guys, for reviewing. I honestly have no idea where I'm going to take this, so your suggestions and comments are awesome. Thank you all!!  
  
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Chapter 8: Into the Fire  
  
Draco opened his eyes. His neck screamed in pain as he moved his head from side to side (however very slightly), trying to make sense of where he was. Sleep fogged his brain. He slowly sat up, wincing, and looked around as his eyes automatically squinted against the glow of the fire.  
  
_Ah yes._ He must have fallen asleep in the Slytherin common room. Oh, how he ached.  
  
"Never again," he mumbled as he stretched. Those chairs were murder on the back. He really should write to father about this; the level of comfort was atrocious.  
  
The blond boy ran his hands through his hair, giving himself a mental note to shower later. He grinned then, like one who'd suddenly found something very funny, as images from the previous night ran through his mind.  
  
Potter had been quick...  
  
_"If you even dare touch Hermione," Harry hissed. "I'll have you - "  
  
"You'll have me what?" Draco whispered, his mouth close to Harry's ear. "Have me bleeding and broken? Oh, I'm scared."  
  
"I don't care," Harry said, his voice shaking with outrage. "I don't care about Quidditch, I don't care about points. You hurt her and I swear I'll kill you."  
  
"You reek of fear," the Slytherin jeered, his blue eyes cold and full of spite. They met emerald green ones. "Your stench is betraying your mask, Potter. And what a good way to get you off the team, too! Maybe we will pay the Mudblood a visit. Kill two birds with one stone, eh, boy?"  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
"Ha!" Malfoy backed away and leaned against the opposite wall, observing the pathetic Gryffindor in front of him. "You are weak, Potter! Wow...honestly, I don't know how Dumbledore can go on about you being strong, being the Golden Boy, being as much as he says you are, when really you're nothing but a sniveling mass of quaking fear. I find this amusing, actually...you'll be much easier to defeat in the end, won't you?"  
  
The Slytherin's laughed.  
  
Draco gave his house members a clear field. Harry's eyes darted back and forth, counting. There were seven of them. Seven against one. The boy thought. If Dumbledore could take out several highly trained Ministry workers at one time, surely he could do away with seven stupid Slytherins. Then he remembered that it was Dumbledore he was thinking of. Dumbledore, whom Voldemort was afraid of. Dumbledore, who possessed power unimaginable. Great.  
  
Draco watched, a hungry look on his face, as he saw the boy slightly panic. Oh, this was bliss beyond his imagination. "HEY!"  
  
He hadn't expected the boy to draw his wand, nor had he expected him to break the rules and fight. Holy shit. The boy was doing things with a wand he hadn't even seen his dear Death Eater father do. The corridor was suddenly filled with light as Harry's wand emitted spell after spell. Shouts and scuffles broke out and Draco couldn't tell who was who. Several Slytherins lay on the floor.  
  
Harry had turned quickly to look Malfoy in the eye. Ha, his one mistake. He hadn't expected the blow that came from behind and the Boy-Who-Lived was soon on the ground. The remaining two Slytherins who were coherent enough to walk did him in. Spectacularly._  
  
Draco shook his head. He should've known to bring more people. He had to admit, Potter was good with a wand. But now he knew that the kid had some issues as well. He could further torment him later. Elsewhere, he had a Mudblood to pester.  
  
This was going to be a good month.  
  
-------  
  
"Harry."  
  
No response.  
  
_"Harry."  
_  
Silence.  
  
"Harry, please, talk to me."  
  
A small moan of protest.  
  
Hermione leaned back in defeat and exhaled loudly. "Harry, who did this?"  
  
It was Saturday morning. Ron was attending a Quidditch meeting that Angelina had suddenly called during breakfast. She had been pissed that Harry wouldn't be attending, although neither Ron nor Hermione had known why.  
  
The Hospital Wing was chilly. Surreal. Pale. Hermione sat beside Harry's bed. She had been trying to get him to talk for almost an hour. So far, that little noise was all she had heard out of Harry's mouth.  
  
The poor boy...she had almost burst into tears when Professor McGonagall had called her up. She'd been worried enough when he didn't come back from his detention with Snape, but this was...this was...  
  
He had been found on the third floor. Which was strange, considering his detention had been in the dungeons. Professor McGonagall had been up early, earlier than the students thank goodness, so there would be no talk of this if they were lucky. McGonagall had talked to Hermione in the Hospital Wing about her concerns...how she thought he had been brought to the third floor from where the act had actually occurred. Madame Pomphrey had worked her magic on Harry, but the boy still looked awful. Bruises. Cuts.

And his arms...oh dear god, his arms...  
  
"Harry," Hermione said, her voice weak and shaking. The girl was close to tears. "Please, Harry. I'm your friend, you _know_ I love you. Why didn't you tell me you were sad? Why aren't you talking to me? Are you angry with Ron and me? I am so sorry we didn't pay close enough attention." She placed a small hand on his shoulder.  
  
Harry stirred. He was lying with his back to her, but he slowly turned, hisses of pain escaping from behind his clenched teeth, until he was facing her. His eyes were watery.  
  
"Nobody did this," Harry rasped. "Nobody you need to know about."  
  
_"How can you say that?!"  
_  
"I don't want you to get hurt."  
  
"_Me_ to get hurt? What are you talking about? Why would I get hurt? _Look at you!_ I'm hurt because you never told me anything! I who am your friend, or at least I thought. Can you not...can you not trust me enough to help you? Harry...I would've _wanted_ to help you!"  
  
"You don't understand," the boy whispered, so quietly that Hermione had to lean in to hear him.  
  
The girl llooked at him helplessly. "Oh god, Harry, why did you do that to yourself?"  
  
Harry fell silent. Closed his eyes. Rolled back over.  
  
Hermione cried. She left her chair and slowly crawled onto Harry's bed where she curled up next to him, careful not to press too much into his body. An arm snaked overtop his waist to let him know she was there.  
  
This would _never_ happen again, she would make sure of that.  
  
Hermione let her tears fall into his messy black hair and she eventually slept, not noticing that Harry was crying too.  
  
-------  
  
"Ah, Professor Snape."  
  
"Good morning, Minerva." _Piss off, ancient wench.  
_  
"I trust you have spoken to Albus already?"  
  
"Oh, I have. I would prefer not to have to appear in his office so early on a Saturday morning, but alas..." He took a seat in a high-backed, rickety wooden chair.  
  
McGonagall sipped her coffee and perched herself high in her throne. Snape didn't like her office much, either. Too...prissy. God, the whole school was prissy.  
  
"Good," she said, apparently bypassing what he'd said. "Then you have heard my concerns."  
  
"I have."  
  
"What do you make of them?"  
  
Severus Snape put his fingertips together and surveyed McGonagall through half-closed eyes. It was so early. He'd wanted to have a lie-in this morning, but one could not ignore the presence of Albus Dumbledore in their chambers, no matter how tired they were. His brain wasn't quite fully functional yet. He realized suddenly that he hated the professional air McGonagall had adopted this morning.  
  
"I do agree, the area in which Potter was found in _is_ suspicious," he began slowly, longing for a mug of coffee. And a Firewhisky. "But then again...Potter does have a reputation for waving way the rules and trooping through the school whenever he likes, wherever he likes. You _do_ realize that him being in the third floor corridors could merely have been his way of...blowing off steam?"  
  
"You mean, he might have been going for a little walk," Minerva said, eyebrows raised. She sighed, and her face suddenly drooped. She looked tired, almost as tired as he was. "Yes, his past should come into account, I guess."  
  
_Good. Now go transfigure your mouth shut.  
_  
"But even if he _was_ simply out walking, where was his Invisibility Cloak? We never found one when Miss Granger and I searched the area afterwards."  
  
"Maybe he didn't feel like using it. I don't know, Minerva, I wasn't there. I was bloody marking essays all night."  
  
"As was I," she retorted. "You are not so hard done by, Professor Snape; I'm sure every teacher in this school can perfectly relate to you on some level. The topic at hand is what happened to Harry last night. I want to see whoever that did this expelled!"  
  
"Do we know who did it? Has he said anything?"  
  
Minerva sighed. "No. He won't talk. Miss Granger is with him now in the Hospital Wing."  
  
Snape fell silent, reflecting. He was still in shock from the night before, and his insides squirmed with guilt. Albus had told him to look in on the boy, and he hadn't done a thing. Of course, his feelings of concern were not for that of the boy (well, maybe a smidgen), but more for himself. He hoped he wouldn't be facing a lecture from McGonagall about this.  
  
"Severus...his arms...Madame Pomphrey said they were self-inflicted."  
  
Snape cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I know," he said, staring at Minerva's coffee mug as though it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "I found out last night."  
  
"What!"  
  
"During his detention, Potter thought it would be all right if he left the dungeons before I gave him leave. So I grabbed his arm to stop him, and a patch of skin on his wrist showed."  
  
McGonagall looked astounded. "And you said nothing to the Headmaster?"  
  
"If I remember correctly," Snape said hotly, his eyes flashing. "Upon my attempt to inform dear Albus of his Golden Boy's troubles, I was told to wait until morning, as he had left the school suddenly on an urgent owl and was in an important meeting in London with the Wizengamot. So I am sorry, Minerva, that I was unable to approach him."  
  
"I am the Deputy Headmistress," she said irritably. "You could have come to me."  
  
"Once again, I apologize." _I loathe the word._  
  
"And then this whole fiasco might never have happened."  
  
Snape's eyes grew icy. "Are you implying that this is my fault?"  
  
"No need to get so _testy,_ Severus. You're sure you have no idea who could have done this?"  
  
Snape shook his head moodily. Oh, how he hated this woman right now. "It might have been someone from outside the school, it might have been a jealous schoolmate, I really don't know." _I am tired, I am hungry, and I need to visit the goddamned Hospital Wing later on, so let me go.  
_  
The woman looked at him a moment later. "Very well. You may go."  
  
-------  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Mmmm?"  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
  
Harry rolled over slightly, his breath catching as the pain swept over him afresh. The bruises, on top of the ones from Uncle Vernon, were calling out to him in pain. His head was going to burst. He looked at Hermione sadly and she looked back at him, her eyes red from crying. Harry hated himself for causing her so much grief.  
  
"Don't tell Ron anything."  
  
Hermione looked slightly surprised, then her face changed to an expression of understanding. "I know you and him have been going through some rough patches, Harry. I won't say anything, OK?" She ran a hand through her frizzy hair in an attempt to flatten it. It did absolutely nothing.  
  
Harry relaxed and closed his swollen eyes. "How long have we been out?"  
  
"Oh, an hour and a half at least."  
  
Harry was so tired. He was ashamed and angry. He was so angry.  
  
"Good," he mumbled as sleep overtook him once more.

-------


	9. Surprise Occlumency

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
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Chapter 9: Surprise Occlumency  
  
Hermione had left the Hospital Wing to tackle her Transfiguration essay, apologizing up and down for leaving Harry.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Harry...I know you probably want some time alone...but I really shouldn't be leaving you like this..."  
  
Harry's stomach had sunk like a stone. So that's why she'd been staying with him all day...just to make sure he didn't harm himself again.  
  
"No, it's OK," Harry had said, waving away her apologies with his hand. "You go on...I know how important your schoolwork is to you...I'll sleep or something..."  
  
Hermione had given him a careful hug. "Take it easy. I won't say anything to Ron about this, OK? I'll leave that to you...whenever you feel ready."  
  
Harry had watched her go. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. Wow. He had never ever thought that she would be that intimate with him. Of course, it wasn't attraction that had made her cuddle up with him for hours...it was Hermione feeling guilty. He knew she wouldn't say anything to Ron, and that made him feel a little better.  
  
He couldn't endure Ron's questions, the look he was so sure that Ron would give him if he ever knew that Harry...well, what a true freak Harry really was. Ron just didn't get it. He was his friend, but he also had a streak in him that Harry had never gotten over. Like the time during the Triwizard Tournament when he'd chosen to believe everyone else in thinking that Harry was just trying to butt in on Cedric's fame...that had hurt Harry beyond measure...  
  
Hermione was his friend too, and she was genuinely concerned about him...right? Harry knew she wouldn't have done what she did if he'd gotten hurt any other way...say in a Quidditch match. She'd only stayed with him because...it was only because he'd...  
  
Harry's feelings of embarrassment and anger filled him once more. God. How could he have been so stupid not to see the attack coming? He'd known something was up the minute he'd walked into the Great Hall the previous morning, but did he do anything about it? No, he had not. He'd brought this upon himself and it was his own fault. He couldn't stop anything. Couldn't protect anyone.  
  
Except Hermione.  
  
He'd promised himself that he wouldn't utter a word about what the Slytherin's had done. Hermione was too precious to risk getting hurt. He could never let anything happen to her...nobody would forgive him if he failed to do so. He would never forgive himself...he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Draco's threat still rang freshly in his ears. He gripped the blankets tightly to stop his hands from shaking. He would kill him. One day, somewhere, he didn't care. He would stand over Malfoy's body and laugh. Just the vision of it made him relax a little. His bruises ached terribly.  
  
Harry didn't know anymore. Whenever he tried to tell himself that his friends cared about him, Vernon's voice in the back of his head would speak for him, answer for him..._"You do know why they dump you here, don't you boy? Because they hate you. If they cared about you, you wouldn't be here now, would you? You wouldn't be here clogging my house with your stench, your filth, your abnormality, your worthlessness..."_  
  
"Mr. Potter?"  
  
Harry started. He hadn't heard anyone come in.  
  
Professor McGonagall stood at the foot of his bed. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"  
  
Harry timidly shook his head. "No, professor...sorry."  
  
The woman looked at him almost irritably and walked round to the chair where Hermione previously sat. Harry noticed she looked older somehow...much older than she had ever looked before.  
  
"Are you all right?" Harry asked.  
  
McGonagall chuckled softly and looked at the boy before her with a slight glow in her eyes. "I'm perfectly fine, Potter, don't worry," she replied. "I'm just...very tired. Ever since last year I haven't been quite myself...but never you mind. I've been to the Order and back three times today, and Flooing that much for a woman of my age can be trying..."  
  
Harry knew she was really talking about her episode that had landed her in St. Mungo's last year. His hate for Umbridge flared once again.  
  
"You've been to the Order?" Harry asked quietly. "Is there something wrong? Where's Voldemort?"  
  
McGonagall eyed him dangerously. "He's lying low now that the Wizarding community has been informed of his whereabouts," she replied, rolling her eyes. Harry assumed that that was on Cornelius Fudge's behalf. McGonagall cleared her throat. "The real reason I'm here," she went on. "Is to let you know that in light of recent events, your detentions with Argus Filch are henceforth disbanded." Seeing the fleeting happiness in Harry's eyes, she added, "But do not think you're getting off lightly about that little stunt with Malfoy, Potter, because if you do, you are sorely mistaken. The Headmaster meant every word he said."  
  
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied.  
  
His teacher was looking him over. Harry blushed. He needed to divert her attention. "So...how's everyone in London?"  
  
"Potter..."  
  
There was silence. Harry's throat began to tighten painfully and he was suddenly horrified. He couldn't have the urge to cry now..._why now?_ Why was McGonagall making him want to start bawling all over again?  
  
The old woman shifted in her chair. "May I ask...can you please tell me what happened?"  
  
Harry went numb. Hermione couldn't be harmed. "Nothing happened," he lied. "I fell down the stairs." _Merlin's beard, is that the best excuse you can come up with?_  
  
McGonagall was apparently thinking along the same lines. Her eyebrows rose skeptically. "You fell down the stairs and ended up in a third floor corridor _with no stairs in sight._ That's how it went?"  
  
Harry's thoughts were racing. "I fell down the stairs and then started walking a bit...then everything went black..."  
  
"You passed out?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Those are quite large bruises, Potter, from what Madame Pomphrey tells me. Some of them look like they're weeks old."  
  
"Do they?" Harry's throat was dry. _No, that is my secret. You will never find out about that. No one knows except me...no one is allowed to know._ He wished she would go away.  
  
Professor McGonagall looked at him sadly. "Potter, whoever did this to you will be expelled if you tell us who. That's all you need to do."  
  
"I told you!" Harry said loudly, gritting his teeth. "No one did this. No one! _I'm fine!_ Why does everyone ask me so many questions?" He turned over in his bed and bit his bottom lip to stop the tears. Behind him, McGonagall sighed. Stood up.  
  
"I can see you aren't in the mood to talk," she snapped. "But sooner or later _we will find out,_ Potter, for your own good and for the good of the other students in this school. You are being very childish. Perhaps I will send someone else up...or I'll come back later. Either one. I am really not in the mood for this. Good day."  
  
Harry waited until she had left the room before he sat up. Cried out in pain. His muscles were so stiff...his bruises were so tender...but he didn't care. He wasn't going to stay there a minute longer. One more interrogation and he might just blow up. Nobody could ever find out.  
  
He hated the Dursley's. He hated them with every fibre in his aching body. He shook as he slowly started dressing himself back into in his school robes. Why did they do that to him, _why?_ Ever since he was three they had started hurting him... This was a secret he would take with him to the grave. His Uncle had always told him not to tell. If anyone asked questions, he was to say he'd fallen down the stairs. And that's how it went. If he misbehaved, he would pay the price. If he trekked water or mud through the house, if he burned the breakfast or the lunch or the dinner, if he talked back, if he made Dudley mad, if he screamed in the night, if he cried, if he talked out of turn, if his Uncle was merely bored, if he ate too much one night, if he didn't get his chores done...he would pay the price. And all those years he had never told anyone.  
  
Harry silently left the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomphrey would be livid when she discovered the empty bed.  
  
-------  
  
Harry limped down the corridors and held onto walls for support when he thought he was going to fall over. It was getting ready to storm outside. Apart from Hannah Abbott, who was startled to see him limping so badly, and a seventh year Gryffindor, he met no one on his trek back to the Tower, until, when he wasn't far from the portrait hole...  
  
"Potter!"  
  
Harry groaned as he recognized the voice. He was too tired and pissed off to turn around, so he simply...kept walking. A rumble of thunder tumbled through the sky as rain pounded on stone.  
  
Footsteps. "Potter!"  
  
Harry hissed. Stopped walking. Waited for the inevitable. He was actually surprised that Snape would even bother to come up into the light just to seek him, the bane of his existence, out. Snape was a bloody vampire as far as Harry was concerned.  
  
The boy turned around and leaned against a stone pillar because his legs were about to give out on him. He would have preferred just to collapse on the floor, but he didn't trust Snape any farther than he could throw him; and he certainly wouldn't be caught sleeping in the corridors.

---  
  
Snape had checked the damn Hospital Wing. Potter hadn't been there. He'd harassed Pomphrey to no end, and when she had scuffled out to point him to the bed that the boy supposedly was in, she just stared at it, utterly flabbergasted. Apparently none of her patients had ever "run away" before. And then she had had the audacity to yell at him about her late order of Calming Draught.  
  
She had yelled. At him.  
  
Snape was pissed. He couldn't believe that he was bothering to come up into the light to seek Potter, the bane of his existence, out. He was a bloody vampire, as far as he was concerned. Although blood wasn't really his thing. He had blood, oh yes, bottles and bottles of it in his private stores, but he'd never wondered what it tasted like.  
  
_What the hell am I thinking about blood for?  
_  
He didn't dare check the library. He and Madame Pince weren't exactly on good terms since he'd accidentally destroyed one of her best potion books when he was in his sixth year. The ruddy woman held grudges that lasted centuries. Besides, he couldn't see Potter actually taking time to study, so he went on.  
  
_If I was Potter...where would I be?_  
  
Out breaking rules? Sneaking into Hogsmeade and getting away with it? Battling mountain trolls in the girls' loo? He shook his head and brushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes as he neared the spot where the Gryffindor Tower entrance was.  
  
Ah, there was the little brat.  
  
Snape's eyes widened slightly as he stood and watched the boy stumble down the corridor. Twice he looked like he was going to fall. He'd resulted to gripping the walls now. He looked like he was drunk. Snape snarled, suddenly furious.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
The boy had certainly heard him. But he kept trudging. The insolent little...! He would have to remember to deduct twenty house points for his cheek. Snape began walking after him. "Potter!"  
  
The boy had stopped. Wise choice. Snape curled his lip.  
  
"Where were you?"  
  
Harry's brow furrowed. "What?"  
  
"Occlumency!" Snape almost shouted. "You didn't show up, Potter! I told you on Friday night to come to my room round noon. You weren't there."  
  
Potter looked incredulous. "I was in the Hospital Wing, sir."  
  
"That is absolutely no excuse! You're up blundering through the school now, are you not?"  
  
The boy looked as though he wanted to murder him. Snape bared his teeth in response. "Wait," Potter said suddenly. "You never told me on Friday that we had Occlumency today. When did you say that?"  
  
_Potter did not just say that_. Snape was rendered quite speechless. It must have been the wine talking to his brain on Friday night as he marked those sodding essays. Perhaps he really didn't tell the boy after all. Wait, that would mean that he'd made a mistake. He hated making mistakes. He stared at the boy's face, awed by the level of calm and carelessness in it. Potter was asking for it.  
  
"You must have had your memory jogged when you _fell down the stairs,"_ Snape sneered, thinking quickly (he hoped). He immediately felt a wave of bitterness wash over him and wondered why the hell whoever was in charge up in the sky had decided to torture him by placing him in the midst of this snotrag of a child.  
  
Potter suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Snape's heart sang with victory. "Well," the boy said. "Did you...are you here to...is Occlumency still on?"  
  
"I feel a coma coming on," Snape hissed. "I gather my attention span, when in the company of one such as yourself or Mr. Longbottom, suffers greatly if what needs to be said isn't said directly and to the point. Yes, Potter, Occlumency is still on, thanks to your dear Headmaster. Now, if you would follow me and soil my classroom further, we will begin."  
  
-------  
  
Harry was terrified. He hadn't been expecting Occlumency so soon into the year. And with all that had happened...he desperately hobbled after Snape as the man billowed down the hallways and out into the Entrance Hall. Then he thought, of course, he should have expected Occlumency this soon into the year, now that Voldemort was back. Wow. Was his ability to think straight deteriorating along with the rest of his mentality?

A group of first year Slytherins passed by and with a stab of realization, Harry yearned that he wouldn't run into Malfoy while wandering about the dungeons.  
  
The Entrance Hall wasn't packed, thank goodness. A few people stopped to stare at Harry as he tried to shamble his way behind the potions master with as much dignity as he could muster, and was grateful enough to enter the cool of the dungeon staircase that he breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Snape led the way, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. He desperately hoped that none of the Slytherins would see him in the company of this sodding Gryffindor, and was almost remotely happy when he reached the door to his classroom without meeting a single soul.  
  
Snape lit the candles and torches in the room with a flick of his wand. He turned and conjured a log for the dying fire, and soon got it roaring. Sometimes even he felt a little chilly down there.  
  
"You _do_ have your wand with you, don't you Potter?" he said smoothly as he whirled around slowly to look at the boy. Potter rummaged in a pocket and his wand appeared, much to Snape's distaste. He really was not looking forward to wasting a perfectly good day with this child.

Harry was looking at him defiantly. A challenge?

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

"Nothing."

Damn him.

Snape faced the boy suddenly and, not waiting for Potter to get ready, he raised his own wand and said, _"Legilimens!"_

Harry only had time to cry out, "Hey!" before the spell had hit him. No mind-clearing, nothing. _Great._ He suspected that this was Snape's way of spying for McGonagall, and his hatred escalated. Unless...

_Harry was in the middle of a large group of Dudley's friends in a vandalized park, all were laughing at him...Hermione was curling up beside him on his hospital bed, tears streaming down her cheeks...A smirking Malfoy was backing away from him, talking to him as he leaned up against a dungeon wall..._

Harry screwed up his face. He desperately did not want Snape seeing all this, even the memories he'd gotten the pleasure of viewing the previous year...Harry tried. His mind was flashing with pictures.

_Harry was crawling under his bed in Privet Drive, terrified, as the door to his bedroom burst open...Ron was accusing him of keeping secrets...the razor blade was in his hands...Sirius was falling through the veil..._

_No, you can't see this! These memories are...mine..._

Harry could see Snape standing before him, silhouetted black against the fire. He raised his own wand and cried, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Snape's wand flew from his hands and hit the wall behind Harry. Harry's mind stopped flashing and he clutched his head in his hands, biting his bottom lip so fiercely he was drawing blood. He would not cry. He wouldn't! He wouldn't' dare shed a tear in the presence of Snape...

But now it was his turn. Images that were not his were playing in front of his eyes.

_Snape was yelling at Dumbledore across the table in Grimmauld Place...a man in a black cloak was kneeling at the feet of Lord Voldemort...Snape was seizing potion bottle after potion bottle and hurtling them at the wall after a dark-haired boy who was running from his office..._

"Potter, stop it!"

Harry wouldn't show emotion in front of Snape. Easier said than done. S

nape cleared his throat, his eyes bright with anger. "You're embarrassed."

"You gave me no time! Why didn't you give me any time?"

"You didn't want me seeing any of those memories, did you?"

"You're sadistic."

_Well, yeah..._

"Potter, as I've said before, when facing a foe who decides to pry into your thoughts you _won't_ have any time. I was merely trying to see how you would cope." He could push Potter's buttons too in the process, he added, as an afterthought.

_Yeah, right._ Harry raised his head. His face was blank. He studied his potions master for a moment. "You're angry," he determined.

"Of course I am, Potter."

The boy looked like he was going to cry. Snape was horrified. "I have a few questions to ask you, if I may." Since when did _he_ start being polite?

Potter's shoulders slumped and he sat himself down on a chair. His muscles were crying out in pain. Harry knew this was bound to happen anyway, and said nothing.

Snape wanted to be sick. This was certainly a change from the things he'd seen in Harry's head the year before. He didn't know where to start. "You haven't been practicing, have you?"

Potter shook his head.

"Can you tell me why?"

The boy looked up at him, startled. "I, uh...I haven't really...had much...chance to, er...clear my mind, sir."

"No?"

"Too much going on..."

Snape groaned in frustration. "Potter, why do you think you are here, for god's sake? Do you think, if you wind up in the presence of the Dark Lord again, that there won't be _too much going on?_ Occlumency is achieved in some of the most straining environments, Potter! The Dark Lord will not willingly step aside for a moment while you take your bloody sweet time to get yourself together. This is what I am desperately trying to get through your head."

He tried to get around that swollen thing in his mouth that was called a tongue. Teaching the boy Occlumency was, he was willing to bet, the hardest thing he had ever had to do while at Hogwarts. Perhaps the boy just didn't want to learn, and took joy in knowing that he was depriving Snape of an evening's worth of free time...

What was he talking about? He had no free time.

Anyway, he had had enough. Clearly this boy had issues, but until he was ready to talk them out, Snape wasn't going to bother wasting time trying to pry anything out of Potter. He also wasn't going to utter a single thing to Minerva, either. Some things were better kept out of staff meetings, and Harry's thoughts were a topic he would rather not discuss with his colleagues. He was just opening his mouth to dismiss the boy, and was terrified to see tears leaking down his face. _Oh sweet Merlin, not now._

"Professor," Harry said, his voice raspy. "I'm sorry for looking in your Pensieve last year."

_Whoa. Take that, Snape._

"Not now," the man hissed.

"At least _say_ you except my apology."

"Potter, I said not now. I am very drained and if I have to sit here any longer discussing my memories with you, I might very well expel my breakfast."

Harry looked crestfallen, then suddenly livid. He picked up his wand and threw Snape a filthy look before storming from the classroom.

Snape put his head in his hands.

-------


	10. The Sanctuary of Darkness

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
-------  
  
Chapter 11: The Sanctuary of Darkness  
  
Hermione paused mid-sentence. She lay down her quill on the thick armrest and propped her elbow up on it, and leaning her head on her hand she fell into a deep trance.  
  
It was after dinner and the sky outside was a beautiful blue, like someone had taken the ocean and suspended it across the heavens. The first stars were twinkling out into the sky and a fine mist was crawling around the grounds. A crow called out into the twilight. The crackling fire in the common room was very welcome on this cold night.  
  
Ron looked up at the sudden absence of the scratching of Hermione's quill and eyed her questioningly. She was, however, unresponsive. Ron shook his head. Strange for one such as Hermione...after all, she only put her schoolwork aside when something important was taking place. And the current calm of the common room was anything but hectic or interesting.  
  
Ron took to studying her instead.  
  
The flickering firelight was casting a warm, golden glow over her face, which was relaxed in thought. He had never noticed before... Her hair was still back in its usual bun, and the tendrils and bits that had escaped were curling and frizzing as they always did. It was the small things like this that made her so...familiar. Her deep brown eyes and the way they were suddenly glassed over as she strayed off into her thoughts...the way her lips were curving into a slight smile...  
  
Ron's breath caught in his throat. _Wow_...he had never ever looked at Hermione that way before. Sure, he had liked her since their third year, but he'd always been too shy to say anything. He had also been too jealous of Vicky as well. He suddenly found himself hoping that Vicky was indeed just a pen pal, and nothing more.

He hated that Bulgarian.  
  
He had promised himself that he would say something to her by Christmas. It had been three years since he'd first had thoughts about her...maybe it was high time he actually came out and said something.  
  
But what if she rejected him?  
  
Ron was now in a very serious debate with himself. If she said no, then at least he would be able to stop fretting about it, right? Once he had his answer? It would kill him, but at least he'd know...and if she said yes...Ron smiled to himself just thinking about it, and looked back at the girl curled up in her chair, her Transfiguration essay laying forgotten in her lap. This was a first, Hermione abandoning her work. He would have to remember to make fun of her for it later.  
  
Ron didn't really consider himself to be handsome or good-looking...not like Harry was, anyway. He always stared at himself in the mirror when no one was looking and picked out things about him that he'd like to change...like his paleness...his freckles (a Weasley trait)...and he really didn't like his hair. So basically he hated everything. He thought he looked like a gerbil, or a badger or something. This would definitely influence Hermione's thinking when it came to taking him on as a significant other. Ron self- consciously touched his hair, making sure it was flat. Then he ruffled it up again on a whim. God, he wished he could just chop it off.  
  
A giggle. "What're you doing, Ron?"  
  
Ron quickly dropped his hand to his side. "Sorry?"  
  
Hermione smiled at him and Ron blushed. It was time for a change of subject.  
  
"What were you thinking about?"  
  
Hermione's head turned in her hand slightly and she looked at him quizzically. "What d'you mean?"  
  
Ron grinned at her. "You looked about a million miles away, Hermione. Is something up?"  
  
Hermione looked down at her essay and paused for a little while as though trying to delay the question, which made Ron even more curious. "I've never seen you pause in your work before. What sacred thing could possibly keep you from your grades?" He teasingly smirked at her.  
  
Hermione sighed and looked worriedly into the fire. "I dunno...it's just...have you seen Harry at all today?"  
  
Ron immediately fell silent and stared at the fire too, his expression dark. He should have known she'd be thinking about Harry. What girl wasn't? His eyes clouded with jealousy and he shrugged.  
  
"Haven't seen him since yesterday," he answered.  
  
He couldn't help but wonder, though...Where _was_ Harry? It wasn't like him to leave them for such a long period of time.  
  
"Maybe he came in to sleep last night after his detention while I was already asleep and he left this morning early for something and I just didn't catch him...Angelina was right pissed off that he was nowhere to be found for Quidditch practice. He pulled this bullshit too last year, not showing up..."  
  
_"Ron!"_ Hermione said testily. "You _know_ that was because of Umbridge! How could you even suggest that Harry - "  
  
Ron was steadily becoming angrier every time Hermione said his name. "Oh, I'm sorry, you're right. Harry isn't at fault for _anything._ I apologize for speaking of him so badly."  
  
Hermione breathed loudly out her nose and shot Ron a furious glare. "You're impossible," she spat. "Honestly...you're so unfair!" She snatched up her quill again and began scribbling away at her essay once more.  
  
Ron snorted. "Whatever you say."  
  
God, he liked the girl, but sometimes she was just so...Ron shook his head. He was being stupid and childish again and he knew it. He didn't mean to get so angry with her, and he didn't mean to speak so nastily of Harry, but sometimes he just got so jealous...he really needed to try to control that. Harry couldn't help it and Ron knew it. Harry didn't ask for the shit he had to put up with. Harry, it was all about Harry. Always.  
  
He suddenly realized that a group of first years were staring at him. "Clear off!" he hissed angrily. They scampered away, muttering. He really didn't feel like being ogled at.  
  
A sigh from beside him. "I also hate the way you sometimes abuse your power too," Hermione said. "You could have asked them nicely to piss off. You make us prefects seem like a bunch of wet swots."  
  
"We _are_ a bunch of wet swots," Ron answered hotly, not thinking. "And at least I don't abuse my power like Malfoy does...he hexes people in the corridors and gets away with it, and whenever I snap at people I get screamed at..."  
  
Hermione shook her head...then gasped.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Ron looked around and saw Harry standing right behind him, looking very stiff and absolutely terrible.  
  
"Dear lord, Harry...what happened to you? You look like you've been through the Forbidden Forest and back."  
  
Harry didn't move; he just stared at Ron with an unreadable expression on his face. Ron suddenly felt his stomach disappear.  
  
"Er, Harry, how long have you been standing there?"  
  
"Oh..." Hermione said softly, understanding.  
  
Harry looked around the room, blinking several times and biting his lower lip rather harshly.  
  
Hermione half-rose out of her chair. "Harry..."  
  
The boy said nothing. He turned slowly and headed off to the seclusion of the dormitory stairs. Hermione threw Ron a thoroughly disgusted look and went after him.  
  
"Harry please, wait a moment." She put a small hand on his shoulder. Harry turned to face her. Hermione stepped up onto the stairs until she was level with him. She sighed and met his eyes. He looked bad.  
  
"Harry, where were you today?"  
  
"I left the Hospital Wing," he answered quietly. "I left and then Snape caught me in the hall and made me take an Occlumency lesson." He rolled his eyes.  
  
Hermione winced. "Sorry. How was it?"  
  
Harry breathed. "Terrible. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him. You have no idea how much."  
  
"Where did you go after that?"  
  
"I went to the library."  
  
Hermione surveyed Harry in the dark of the stairs. He scratched his nose and looked back at her, silent and unmoving.  
  
"Oh, Harry..."  
  
She took mercy on him and brushed a few locks of hopelessly messy hair out of his eyes and straightened his collar a bit. He tried to wave her away, but she wouldn't budge. Harry damned her for being so motherly. His embarrassment for looking so haggard plagued him and he suddenly wished that he were somewhere private. Like in his four-poster again. She kept looking into his eyes...was she trying to get something from him? He had already cried with her that morning, and surely that was enough. He couldn't let her see how weak he was. Her eyes were very brown, almost as brown as Ginny's.  
  
"Harry, I don't know what to do for you..." Hermione's voice broke. "I feel so awful. I want to be there for you but...but you're not letting me get close enough!" Tears brimmed in her eyes. Harry's brow furrowed and his gut turned to stone. "You're _hurting_ me, Harry. I'm sorry, but...but you're hurting me so much...for not telling me what's wrong..." She wiped her tears away and sniffed, her hands never leaving his collar. "You think that Ron and I just sit by and never let you enter our thoughts once during the day... you're scaring us. We _want_ to help! I know you heard what Ron said, Harry, but it's just not true. He really doesn't think like that! He's a loyal friend, Harry..."  
  
"He sounded pretty goddamn sincere if you ask me," Harry retorted brokenly. "How would you act if you heard him saying that about you? One of your best friends in the whole world, taking the side of everyone else! Hating you for who you are! Is that loyalty, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione swallowed with difficulty. "I know, Harry. But it's still not true. God...you're hurting. You're hurting and you're not letting me help. I hope to god that you'll let someone else in who can...because if you do something like this again..." She gently took his right arm and rolled the sleeve up slightly. Harry hissed. Ugly red marks twisted and twirled snakelike up his scorched flesh. Harry yanked his arm away.  
  
"That..." he stammered. "That...that's not important!"  
  
"Yes it is!"  
  
"NO!" he shouted. "It's not! That's none of your business! Leave it, okay?"  
  
Hermione just looked at him. "Fine," she said. "Fine, if that's what you want. I guess you'll be wanting to go up to bed now, Harry, it's getting late."  
  
Harry was breathing rather heavily. His suppressed rage was threatening to spew out all over the stairwell. Hermione stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, then stalked away.  
  
Harry simply stood there, expressionless.  
  
-------  
  
Ron entered the dormitory and looked at Harry. His...friend...was sitting on his bed, looking through a book of some sort. Harry looked up to see who'd entered.  
  
"Hi," he said quietly.  
  
"I heard everything," Ron answered. At Harry's questioning look, he went on. "On the stairs. The little talk you had with Hermione. I heard it all."  
  
Harry closed his eyes.  
  
"What did Hermione mean by, _'If you do something like this again?'_"  
  
Harry had turned to ice. "She meant if I went away for a whole day like that again. Why?"  
  
"Yeah, OK," Ron muttered, sounding exactly like he had that night in their fourth year during the Tournament...Harry could envision exactly how it went.  
  
"Why d'you look so terrible? How come you're so stiff and limping and...tired-looking?"  
  
"I _am_ tired," Harry said, focusing his attention back on his photo album. "And I fell down a flight of stairs last night. Hurt my ankle."  
  
"Hmmm."  
  
Ron crossed the room and began to undress for the night. "How come that sounds like a load of bullshit, Harry?"  
  
Harry slapped his book shut.  
  
"You're keeping things from me, aren't you?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Why, Harry? What aren't you telling me? I thought friends were supposed to trust one another and all that."  
  
"Oh, you were pretty trustworthy downstairs just now," Harry growled, facing the redhead as he put on his pajama bottoms. Ron was taken aback by the fury in Harry's eyes. "I especially loved the part about me pulling all the bullshit with Quidditch. Did you make that up yourself?"  
  
Ron's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry about that, mate."  
  
"Right," Harry replied. He crawled into his bed angrily. "Wouldn't be sorry if I hadn't of heard it though, would you?"  
  
Ron was going to reply, but the door burst open again and Seamus, Neville and Dean flooded the room, all laughing and talking happily.  
  
"Hey, Harry!" Neville said, smiling. "_Wow_...you look beat. You'd probably do well to catch some sleep."  
  
"Good thing tomorrow's Sunday, eh?" Dean said heartily. "One more day to sleep in until noon, then!"  
  
Harry wondered how anyone could possibly be that happy right now. He grinned a little at them and wrenched the hangings around his bed shut, blocking out the light. Right now, the darkness was his sanctuary.  
  
-------  
  
October arrived in a frenzy of frost and wind. The teachers had suddenly begun to set loads of assignments and give out monstrous amounts of homework, much to the dismay of the students, but oddly everyone found themselves getting things done; as no one would venture outside lest they be found frozen into an icicle.  
  
Professor McGonagall had her class all focus on transfiguring candelabras into tea kettles, a task that only Hermione really perfected. (Harry's kettle had an odd habit of spewing flame from its spout). Professor Snape was still on them about the Veritaserum potion, although during one particularly horrible lesson he'd ordered them all to stop brewing and start over. Hermione had been absolutely furious.  
  
Harry was pretty much kept busy with everything he was swamped with, but the arrival of October meant that Quidditch season was now upon them, and lately he had taken to bracing himself when he entered the common room in the mornings in case Angelina decided to swoop down on him before he could get down to breakfast. Ron was apparently thinking along the same lines.  
  
Ron and Harry's friendship was on thin ice. Both were walking around eggshells and whenever they spoke to one another, they're voices were full of forced politeness. Hermione understood, but it also drove her crazy. Sometimes Harry did stop and wonder what ever happened to Ron Weasley, the boy he had depended on more than anyone else on earth, the friend he could always turn to, the one who would never hold anything against him...Harry figured it was the fourth year that began the deterioration. The strange thing now was, he didn't really mind. Having more time on his hands left him some moments to be alone now. Sit and think for long periods of time. Sleep. Do some homework with Hermione instead of playing Gobstones and then rushing at the last minute. Harry was beginning to see how easier things could have been in the past (especially last year), if he hadn't procrastinated as much as he had.  
  
Oh god, he was turning into Hermione. No, no, he wasn't, he was just absorbing some of her mentality. Which surely couldn't hurt him, right? So what, now he had some wit in his head, the Ravenclaw trait, as well as the Gryffindor and Slytherin?

Hah.  
  
Snape had been reclusive as well as Ron. He hadn't spoken to Harry since the unfortunate Occlumency lesson, but during potions classes (his sarcasm and sadistic demeanor hadn't lessened whatsoever), Harry could feel Snape's eyes on him. Oh lord, he'd wanted to die. Harry had half a mind to give Snape a photo of himself if the man was so bent on looking at him, and then decided that Snape would take it as an act of insolence and deduct house points. Hell, Justin Finch-Fletchley had walked straight into a Hufflepuff sixth year one day and knocked them both to the ground. Snape had deducted house points from Harry for being in the vicinity of the accident. The man had some issues.  
  
Personally, Harry didn't give a shit anymore. He found himself being like that when it came to almost anything...food, friends, homework (although he did it anyway), and now he was dismissing Snape's behaviour along with the rest of it. He could tell that Snape was doing his best these days, unleashing forth the full extent of his sarcasm and monster-like wrath just to evict some form of emotion from the boy, but Harry had simply told himself that the greasy git was just trying to have a go at him...provoke him. Piss him off. He decided that he wouldn't let himself be so easy to aggravate. Besides, it made Snape angry, so he was happier more often. At least during potions class.  
  
It was a cloudy Wednesday morning. Harry, yawning, trudged out into the dark common room and earned a small sigh from Hermione, who came over to fix his robes. He had thrown them on precariously before leaving his dorm; he really didn't feel like acting lively for Neville, Seamus and Dean.  
  
"I'm all right you know, Hermione, no need to act like Mrs. Weasley."  
  
Hermione tutted. "Harry, the thing's practically half off you. One good tug and you'd lose it in the corridors."  
  
Someone had emerged into the room through the portrait hole carrying coffee. The smell was amazing.  
  
Harry waited for the girl to finish. Her hair was damp from a shower and she carried the tang of coconut. It was calming. Hermione smiled encouragingly at him. "All right?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "I guess."  
  
Wow, mornings were depressing. Well, this one was anyway. It began to rain outside and steam rose like mad from the grounds as the air was suddenly chilled. It looked as though it might have been twilight, let alone seven thirty in the morning.  
  
"Oy - Harry!"  
  
A rough clap on his shoulder.  
  
"Hello, Angelina."  
  
Angelina looked at him with her eyebrows slightly raised, looking him up and down. "God, Harry, you're lucky you have someone like Hermione here to keep care over you. Otherwise you'd melt into the floor. You look bloody exhausted."  
  
Harry smiled feebly.  
  
"Anyway!" Angelina continued loudly, flipping her dark hair over a shoulder. "I thought about waiting until next Thursday, but I'm calling our first practice on Sunday around noon. We've got to get new Beaters this year because those _darling_ Weasley git's decided to leave prematurely."  
  
Her eyes gleamed with pride nonetheless.  
  
"Be there, all right? Umbridge isn't here this year to give you detention, so you've got no excuse. After we pick our Beaters we'll have a go at practicing."  
  
Harry nodded and made to walk away, but Angelina grabbed him again. "Wood's coming for a little visit to our first game, eh?"  
  
"Is he?" Harry asked, his eyes suddenly bright. "Who're we playing?"  
  
"Guess," Angelina said flatly. She sighed and a look of stress washed over her face. "I'm just hoping there are some good players out there, Harry. Really, we need people like Fred and George on the team or we'll be sure to lose. Not saying that you won't win it for us...its just...Ron's still a little iffy sometimes."  
  
Harry nodded awkwardly. Hermione tapped Angelina on the shoulder and nodded her head slightly towards the staircases where Ron was coming down, pulling his robes on and trying to fasten a button. Hermione ran off to relay the message.  
  
"Right," Angelina whispered. "Pass the invitation for the positions of Beater's one and two out around the table and in your classes today, OK Harry? That way we can get it around more quickly. D'you have anyone in mind right now that I could catch before first class?"  
  
Harry thought, which was saying something seeing as it was morning. "Ginny Weasley," he replied after a pause. "She told me she'd like to try out for another position 'cause Seeker wasn't really her thing...she's in fifth year, she'd probably like to have a go."  
  
"Excellent," Angelina said happily. "Good. Very good. All right Harry, I'll stop pestering you...go eat something. You look like you could use it."  
  
Harry indeed desperately wanted something hot in his stomach. He nodded again and quickly set out for the Great Hall, not waiting for Hermione and Ron to follow.  
  
-------  
  
"Dueling! One of the most important...well, possibly the most important aspect in learning to defend yourself against foes, apart from actually learning the incantations themselves."  
  
Lupin paced the front of the silent room, hands folded behind his back, staring at his class as he thought. The room was so dark, even with the window shutters thrown open, that the torches and candles had to be lit for people to see properly. At least this made the room warm.  
  
Hermione was frivolously copying down every word that Lupin said and Harry was copying what Hermione was copying...just much less of it. He was so tired.  
  
The D.A.D.A. classroom had been transformed. The tables were all moved towards the back of the room while the front was an enormous sort of platform inscribed with different colored runes and symbols. Lupin was still pacing about on it.  
  
"I have spoken with the Headmaster about this so-called Dueling Club you lot had when you were in your...what was it...second year, I believe? That was the year of the Chamber, was it not?"  
  
A murmur of stiffened confirmation ran through the room and all eyes flickered at least once to Harry, who rolled his eyes and sighed irritably.  
  
"He told me what, er...happened there," the professor said uncomfortably. "And I will remind you again that this will be far more different than the pathetic excuse for instruction you received back then. As I have said before, this duel will get as real as I can allow it. Of course, we will not be going bonkers all over my classroom today, considering this is your first try. No, we will be focusing on stance somewhat, ideal curses and hexes to use in the event of an attack, maneuvers and so on."  
  
The man clapped his hands once and smiled broadly at them all. "I think we've been doing enough theory work over the past week and a half, don't you?"  
  
The class muttered excitedly.  
  
"Quills away, wands out!" The professor said. "Everyone please come up onto the platform...no running, Finnigan...and split yourselves into pairs if you please." Hermione went to pair with someone in Ravenclaw and Ron went with Dean. Harry looked around and spotted Neville, who was fingering his wand self- consciously and looking thoroughly deflated. Harry waved him over.  
  
"Thanks," Neville said gratefully. "I am better, really I am Harry...thanks to the DA last year...you saw me, eh?"  
  
Harry grinned. "I did, Neville. You're getting brilliant you know."  
  
Lupin clapped his hands loudly to quiet the room, as everyone was muttering and talking excitedly. "All right, you lot! I will call one group up at a time and do my job. While this is happening I expect each and every one of you to be watching attentively."  
  
His eyes roamed the students in front of him, all who were gripping their wands eagerly. _Merlin's beard, I hope they don't get too over-excited...  
_  
"How about...Miss. Granger and Miss. Chang, please?"  
  
Harry started. He had totally forgotten that Cho was in Ravenclaw; the experience he'd had with her in the past year hadn't exactly been a pleasant one, and nowadays he'd forgotten she existed altogether. That didn't mean she wasn't still pretty, though. Harry was surprised she wasn't crying all over the platform at the present moment, actually, and took to staring thoughtfully at her as she climbed up onto the stage. Hermione looked amused.  
  
"Right," Lupin said. "If facing your opponent in a formal duel, as we discussed earlier, the duel will begin with a small bow."  
  
Both girls nodded their heads slightly.  
  
"Remember Lockhart's bow?" Harry heard Dean mutter to Ron from somewhere behind him. "With all the flourishes and twirling..."  
  
"After this, the wands are raised vertically in front of the face, held arm- length with a slight bend at the elbow." He walked over to Cho to correct her arm and stepped back, smiling at her reassuringly.  
  
The class watched attentively. "All right, - Good form, Hermione. - The spells you will be casting are to disarm only. In a formal duel there usually is no intent to kill the other person, and therefore the primary goal you should be focusing on is to disarm your challenger. No wand, no danger, unless the other person is skilled at Wandless Magic, and only a handful of witches and wizards are disciplined enough to be accomplished in that area. A simple Expelliarmus will do, unless you think that something else will prove more effective."  
  
The girls looked each other in the eye.  
  
"On the count of three," Lupin said quietly, watching the two intently. "One...two...three!"  
  
Harry was bloody amazed. Hermione had just opened her mouth to shout an incantation when Cho had taken a step forward and cried, _"Expelliarmus!"_ in the same amount of time. Hermione's wand flew out of her hand and Cho caught it effortlessly, smiling mildly and nodding once more at the girl that faced her. The class broke into a surprised round of applause and Lupin clapped her on a shoulder, thoroughly impressed.  
  
_"Well done,_ Miss. Chang! Very well done indeed! Giving Miss. Granger a run for her money, it would seem."  
  
Lupin winked at Hermione who smiled back, but Harry knew she hated being shown up when it came to schoolwork. He chuckled and applauded Luna again as she stepped gracefully off the platform.  
  
"Quiet now," Lupin called, his eyes bright. "Now, as you all have just witnessed, quickness is absolutely key in dueling. If you are slow with a wand you could count on your feet to save you, but to be swift with your magic would obviously help a great deal. A good thing to do before a formal duel officially starts is to know, or at least have some idea, of the spells you will be casting. This eliminates rummaging around in your brain for something. Have it on the tip of your tongue if you can, and that will help save time." The man smiled again. "Well done Miss. Granger...Miss. Chang. And now I'll take another pair."  
  
He searched the class with his eyes and Harry knew who was to be next. Several people had their hands in the air and were bouncing on the balls of their feet.  
  
"Ah! This should prove interesting...Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry smiled encouragingly at Neville and the two climbed up onto the platform. Harry stood at one end and waited for Neville to get to the other, his insides squirming. He hadn't spoken a word to Lupin in almost two weeks.  
  
"Right," Lupin said. Harry could feel the man's eyes on him. "You boys know what to do..."  
  
They nodded slightly at one another, not taking their eyes off each other.  
  
"And now the wands..."  
  
Harry raised his wand in front of him, breathing slightly quicker than he had been while watching Hermione and Luna. His mind had gone completely relaxed and focused, and an odd sensation of complete awareness held his body in its grasp.  
  
"Perfect form, both of you," Lupin said, pleased. "Practiced, no doubt?"  
  
The DA members in the class laughed. Harry almost had to himself.  
  
"One...two...three!"  
  
Neville was moving, but Harry was too quick. _"Expelliarmus!"  
_  
Neville's wand was in Harry's hands and the class clapped enthusiastically. Harry expected a pat on his shoulder and congratulation, but none came. Suddenly the class went totally silent and Neville looked like he was going to faint. Harry glanced over his shoulder.  
  
Snape stood in the doorway looking thoroughly formidable, leaning against the frame with his arms folded over his chest, wearing an expression of utmost disgust. Lupin raised his eyebrows at the black-robed man.  
  
"Ah, Professor Snape! What brings you here?"  
  
Snape sneered. "My class was cancelled," he replied almost happily. "Some idiot thought it would be funny to shower the room in an Enlargement Potion, so my entire class is now in the Hospital Wing keeping Madame Pomphrey busy. I was passing and heard the noise."  
  
Lupin smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Snape looked critically at the man's patched robes and his lip curled further.  
  
"Well, you're welcome to stay of course!" Lupin invited. "My class has just begun the hands-on study of the formal duel." He turned to his students. "Professor Snape has much experience in this field. I'm sure he could help you out if you have any questions I am unable to answer."  
  
Harry detected coldness in the way his professor was speaking. His gray eyes had become unwelcoming and alert and Harry was glad his turn was over...Neville looked both terrified and relieved as well. The class, suddenly squeezing in to get as far away from Snape as possible, looked like they would rather face an entire afternoon with a horde of Blast-Ended Skrewts than ask Snape anything.  
  
Snape billowed into the room and stood near Lupin up on the platform, his eyes glittering. Oh god. Harry quickly looked away from the man and was about to step off the riser when Snape's voice stopped him.  
  
"I _did_ notice," he said silkily. "That there were some things Potter was doing wrong."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yes," the potions master sneered. "Longbottom, you may go...Professor Lupin, if I may?"  
  
Lupin suddenly looked tense. He stiffly beckoned Snape forward and Snape strode to the other end of the platform and faced Harry. Harry's insides had disappeared. The class was whispering and shifting uncomfortably, although looking somewhat interested. Snape's eyes were boring holes into Harry's and Harry looked at the floor desperately.  
  
"Professor Lupin was telling me," Snape said loudly. "That he would like these lessons to soon get as...what was it? As real as he could get them. Am I right?"  
  
Lupin nodded.  
  
Snape smirked. "I believe, apart from myself, that Mr. Potter also has experience in this field. I was hoping that you would let us give a small demonstration to the class of what a real duel might look like, Professor Lupin."  
  
"Ah," Lupin said. "I don't know if...well...is that all right, Harry?"  
  
A strange noise erupted quietly from one of the fabric-covered boxes lining the walls. Harry nodded numbly and faced Snape, now breathing as though terrified.  
  
Of course, he was.  
  
"As I've said," Lupin went on, not bothering to hide his displeasure. "The ideal aim is to disarm your adversary, although sometimes you might have to, with other hexes and such until your opponent leaves a clear field for you to get in to take the wand. I will say that Harry is nearing the professional level with this."  
  
The class looked impressed. Snape's onyx eyes glittered unpleasantly.  
  
"Begin."  
  
The two nodded curtly. They raised their wands in front of them and Harry desperately tried to keep his hand from shaking. For a moment there was complete silence, the potions master and the boy looked into the other's eyes as though trying to determine just what it was that the other had planned...Harry could hear his own heart beating inside him as though someone had held a microphone up to it...and then Snape struck.  
  
_"Expelliarmus!"_  
  
Harry acted instinctively and erected a swift Shielding Charm. The disarming spell was diverted towards the wall off to Harry's left and a torch was put out as the force of the spell's wind snuffed the flame.  
  
_"Protego!"_  
  
Snape dodged the hex, his eyes focused on Harry's face. Harry made his expression go neutral and he tried again. But Snape was quicker.  
  
_"Impedi - "  
_  
_"Expelliarmus!"  
_  
Harry ducked and moved his feet. The spell missed him by inches and, crouching, he raised his wand once more. Oh bugger it, he's too fast...  
  
_"Expelliarmus!"  
_  
_"Tarantallegra!"  
_  
Another Shielding Charm. _"Stupefy!"  
_  
Snape's eyes widened in acceptance of the challenge. _"Reducto!"  
_  
Harry rolled out of the way and came up cat-like on the platform, his bruised limbs screaming in pain, making him wince. A crash from behind him and someone screamed. Not daring to look around to see if anyone was injured, he kept his eyes focused on Snape. _"Impedimenta!"_  
  
Snape diverted the spell. He had to admit, Potter was good. The little bugger was quick on his feet as well with his wand, and he was having a hard time getting him in one place. This left no other option, although he hated this jinx because of its length...  
  
_"Petrificus Totalus!"  
_  
Harry was forced to roll again. The little prat.  
  
Harry gasped, _"Reducto!"  
  
Whoops, taking that back._ Snape crouched and rolled away from the hex's path. He felt it graze his back and his anger flared. He would not be beaten by a sixteen-year-old. When he insisted that he and Potter duel, he hadn't expected him to be as bloody good as he was. Wait, apart from Snape being able to produce the Unforgivables. Potter was nowhere near focused enough to cast those thus far.  
  
Snape looked at the boy again. Harry looked back at Snape. The two raised their wands quickly and in a flash of spell work it was over.  
  
_"Impedimenta!"  
_  
_"Reducto!"  
_  
Both jinxes hit the two at the same moment. Harry and Snape were blasted off their feet and Snape flew into a bare wall. Harry was thrown into a cage where the Runespoor hissed furiously and began insulting him using words Harry had never heard before.  
  
"Shut the bloody hell up," He snapped back, rubbing his head. Dear lord that had hurt like the dickens.  
  
He detangled himself from the purple covering and stood up shakily. Across the room, Snape had pulled himself off the floor and was holding his right arm tight against his chest. A burst of pain around Harry's lower back made him bite his lip and he hobbled back over to Lupin. The class was gasping and whispering excitedly to each other.  
  
"You two all right?" Lupin asked quietly, looking from Harry to Snape.  
  
"Obviously," Snape sneered. "Otherwise I wouldn't be standing, would I?"  
  
Harry nodded. "Fine."  
  
Lupin eyed Harry proudly. "I suspect that both of you should go join Professor Snape's class in the Hospital Wing and make sure nothing's damaged," he said. Harry nodded and set off beside Snape towards the door.  
  
Harry's classmates looked at him elatedly as he passed. "There you have it," Lupin was hollering. "That, er, that's an example of a duel! Although that wasn't exactly..."  
  
"Parseltongue still in your vocabulary, then?" Snape said breathlessly as the two walked down the dark, torch-lit corridor. Rain lashed at the windows. Harry looked up, breathing heavily.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You spoke to the Runespoor, did you not?"  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
They kept walking, their footsteps echoing off the stone. It was truly an awkward moment between the wizards and both wished they could sink into the floor.  
  
"Nice bit of casting, I'll add," the potions master said through almost clenched teeth. He couldn't believe he was praising Potter's abilities. He never praised Potter's abilities.  
  
Potter was stunned. "Why, er...thanks, I guess." A strained pause. "You as well."  
  
"Oh bugger off, I'm an old git far more experienced than you. I don't need to be told I'm good."

Uncomfortable silence. The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. He couldn't help it.

"That was ridiculous," Snape said loudly into the quiet of the corridors. Harry nodded to himself.  
  
More silence. More walking. Harry cleared his throat at some point and Snape coughed soon after. Then, simultaneously, the two burst out laughing.  
  
-------


	11. Intrusion

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

-- Book excerpts taken from _Quidditch Through the Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp_ by J.K. Rowling

-------  
  
Chapter 11: Intrusion  
  
"They will too!"  
  
"They will not."  
  
"They will too!"  
  
"They will not."  
  
_"They will too!"  
_  
"Ron, you know they won't."  
  
Ron seized Harry's copy of Quidditch Through the Ages (right out of his hands), and flipped the pages until he began to read desperately.  
  
_"Ahem._ 'The Chudley Cannons' glory days may be considered by many to be over, but their devoted fans live in hope of a renaissance.' Ha, see that, Hermione?" He paused spectacularly and went on. "The Cannons have won the league _twenty one times.'_"  
  
Hermione just looked at him.  
  
"They _will_ make a comeback," Ron concluded smugly, flopping down cross- legged on the floor in front of the fire. "You just wait. Any day now they'll return."  
  
Hermione pried the book out of Ron's hands. Harry watched solemnly as his place was lost while Hermione flipped through to find the page Ron had read from.  
  
"'The Chudley Cannons' glory days may be considered by many to be over, but their devoted fans live in hope of a renaissance. The Cannons have won the league twenty one times, but the last time they did so was in 1892 and their performance over the last century has been lackluster. The club motto was changed in 1972 from "We Shall Conquer" to "Let's All Just Keep Our Fingers Crossed and Hope for the Best.'"  
  
Hermione slapped the book shut and levitated it back over to Harry.  
  
She threw a pointed look at Ron. "They won't."  
  
Ron scowled at her and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _"Know-it-all."_  
  
Harry found his chapter again (Chapter 4: The Arrival of the Golden Snitch), and tried to resume reading, but Hermione and Ron's arguing was distracting him. All they ever did nowadays was bicker, and Harry had to wonder sometimes how the hell the two of them stayed friends. He shook his head as he observed Ron, his face the colour of his hair, defending his favourite Quidditch team, while Hermione remained cool and collected, spewing forth facts that squashed Ron's incoherent babbling to bits. Harry sighed.  
  
"So Ron," he interrupted loudly, book marking his page. "What d'you think about the game against Slytherin, eh?"  
  
Ron looked up as though surprised anyone else was there. He remained grumpy. "I'll be rubbish," he glared, picking angrily at the rug beneath him. "You saw me last year."  
  
"Last year you helped us win," Hermione pointed out, itching her forehead with her quill. "Remember?"  
  
"That was just a good game," Ron continued. "Slytherin will crush us."  
  
"Oh, with that kind of mentality, of course they will!" Hermione said exasperatedly, throwing up her hands. "Ron...if you let them know how..._unsure_ you are of yourself, they'll use your weakness to their advantage."  
  
"Oh, so now I'm weak?"  
  
"Well, when you say it like that of course it sounds horrible...but no, you're not weak - "  
  
"Why don't _you_ try out for Keeper, then? You seem to know loads about it."  
  
"Oh Ron, just because you played a bunch of bad games last year - "  
  
"So you admit it? I'm rubbish?"  
  
Harry groaned and stood up. He shouldn't have said anything; now the two were arguing again. _Lovely._ Such a bond of friendship. He decided to take himself and his book down to the library where talking was punishable by law.  
  
"Harry, where are you going?"  
  
Hermione and Ron were looking at him.  
  
"Library," Harry muttered. "I'd like to read undisturbed, if that's OK."  
  
"She started it," Ron said accusingly, pointing a finger at the girl curled up in the armchair. Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes.  
  
Harry climbed out through the portrait hole and walked slowly down the corridor, thinking hard about the upcoming match. Angelina had changed her mind and called practices every night beginning tomorrow instead of calling their first one on Sunday. He was glad he'd been working like mad the past few weeks and didn't have any hugely important piles of homework like Ron did; otherwise he'd be even more of a wreck than he already was. He was also happy that he'd avoided being given any detentions. Even after the D.A.D.A class he'd gone through with Snape, he had been mercifully spared. So had Snape. After all, teachers weren't allowed to attack students and vice-versa. Harry doubted that even Dumbledore knew about it yet, although the word was sure to go around sooner or later.  
  
That was one of the _strangest_ things he'd ever experienced, laughing with Professor Snape. Some would call it the work of God that the man had even cracked a smile, let alone chuckled. But he'd openly laughed; a deep baritone sound that had filled the corridor and caught Harry very off-guard. And as soon as the laughing had started, it had stopped.

They had seemed to realize what had passed between them. Something other than hate, which surely was not possible whatsoever.  
  
They never went to the hospital wing. Snape had mumbled something about needing to get back to clean up the dungeons and Harry had returned to Gryffindor Tower. When questioned about it later he'd just said that Madame Pomphrey couldn't find anything wrong with them and had sent them on their way.  
  
"You didn't miss anything important," Hermione had assured him later in the evening when he saw her at dinner. "Lupin just explained...or at least, _tried_ to explain your duel, then all the other groups had a go."  
  
Harry was surprised when he found himself outside the library. He walked in past Madame Pince, who scowled and narrowed her eyes at him as though he'd already committed some sort of crime. Harry knew she was thinking about the Easter chocolate he'd shared with Ginny the previous year. She would most likely never forget it, either. He suppressed a shudder and chose an empty table in a corner, sat himself down, and had a go at reading once more; thankful that the library wasn't that full of students tonight.  
  
_'From the early 1100s, Snidget-hunting had been popular among many witches and wizards. The Golden Snidget (see Fig. B), is today a protected species, but at that time Golden Snidgets were common in northern Europe, though difficult to detect by Muggles because of their aptitude at hiding and their very great speed.'_  
  
Harry rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. Even with their help his eyesight was getting bleary. He was tired. He stared at the same spot on the page for a few minutes, his mind blissfully clear. Time alone was a welcome thing once in a while, especially since his evenings would be filled for the next two months with Quidditch practice. Ah well, at least he would be forced to get into shape again. Every summer left him thin and soft on account of him not eating...  
  
His scar twinged a little.  
  
"Hello, Harry."  
  
Harry snapped back to reality and smiled genuinely as Ginny took a seat opposite him at the table. His heart beat a little quicker than it had been a moment ago. Madame Pince was glowering at them both. Ginny rolled her eyes.  
  
"She's never going to forget the chocolate, is she?"  
  
"Don't reckon so," Harry said, laughing a little. He noticed Ginny's cheeks were very rosy and that she was wearing her outdoor robes, which bulged a little at each pocket.  
  
"Been running around outside, then?"  
  
Ginny suddenly smiled mischievously. She leaned in towards Harry, her brown eyes positively sparkling. "I've just been to Honeyduke's," she whispered. Harry's emerald eyes widened in shock.  
  
"Honeyduke's!"  
  
"Shhhhh!" Ginny warned, looking around. "I was desperate for sweets and I remembered something Fred and George told me about the One-Eyed Witch so I checked it out and...voila!" She patted her robes and Harry unmistakably heard the crunch of paper bags.  
  
Harry's admiration for her grew. _"Wow_, Ginny...how'd you get in from the cellar without anyone seeing you?"  
  
"Well, someone almost did," the girl said matter-of-factly, checking to see what Harry was reading. "I was about halfway up the stairs and the door opened so I had to bloody well dive back down and hide myself round the barrels."  
  
Harry whistled. "Whoa. You could have asked to borrow my Invisibility Cloak, you know...Ginny, you might have been expelled if you were caught."  
  
"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny said, grinning. She chewed thoughtfully on her lip for a moment.  
  
"What'd you get, anyway?"  
  
"Oh, you know. The usual. Whizbees and Drooble's and Chocolate Frogs..."  
  
A few moments of silence passed between them. Harry yawned loudly and earned a significant glance from the librarian.  
  
"So...Quidditch tryouts on Sunday?" Ginny asked.  
  
"No," Harry replied. "Haven't you heard? They've been moved to tomorrow evening."  
  
"Oh!" Ginny exclaimed. "Wow, nobody told me. Thanks, Harry."  
  
"What position are you going for?"  
  
"Beater, obviously," she said. "I was hoping for Chaser, but Gryffindor's already got them..."  
  
Harry nodded. She'd be very good, whatever position she played. She certainly had the talent. Ginny busied herself with her pockets.  
  
She was a great person, Ginny. One of the most down-to-earth people he'd ever met, apart from the time she never talked to him during his first couple years at Hogwarts.

He looked at her and studied her red hair, which had gotten very frizzy and wild from the cold. The light of the torches made it slightly shimmer. He noted the way her skin was rosy from being outdoors, making her freckles almost invisible, and he gazed at her chocolate eyes and oh dear god, he liked Ginny Weasley. Ron was going to kill him.  
  
"Er," Harry suddenly stuttered, standing up. "I'd...I'd better be getting back, then."  
  
"Well I'll come with you," the girl replied, smiling and looking at him. Oh damn, he'd forgotten she was in Gryffindor too. He blushed.  
  
Harry swallowed and led the way, tensing as he passed Madame Pince, and emerged into the cold corridor...  
  
...Only to run into Draco Malfoy.  
  
Harry stopped short and closed his eyes. He could practically feel the pressure of Malfoy's delighted smirk. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him as usual, flexing their muscles and cracking their overly large knuckles threateningly and Harry found himself wondering if Malfoy ever went anywhere without them. He knew the two brutes could do damage if they wanted to, but their presence no longer sparked fear in Harry any longer like they used to. They looked rather stupid, actually.  
  
"Well, well, well!" Malfoy said; crossing his arms and tilting his head a little to study the two Gryffindors. "What's this? Potter's got himself a girlfriend!"  
  
"Sod off, Malfoy," Ginny hissed, throwing him a scathing look and starting to march away. Goyle quickly grabbed one of her arms and held her tightly.  
  
_"Hey!"_ she snapped, glaring at him. "Piss off!"  
  
"What a dirty mouth you have," Malfoy remarked, his eyes icy. He looked at Harry almost amusedly. "You always get the feisty ones, don't you?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry growled. Malfoy's smirk grew and he strode up to Harry until they were face-to-face. Harry gripped his wand in his pocket. He really wasn't in the mood.  
  
"I've just had a run-in with the Mudblood," the Slytherin whispered. Harry's temper flared. "I think she was coming down here to look for you."  
  
"Not now, Malfoy."  
  
"She was _devastated_," Malfoy went on, his eyes glittering like Snape's. "She tried not to let me get to her, but I think I did, Potter. I really think I did."  
  
Harry was tired. He was pissed off. He was worried. He tried to stay maddeningly calm.  
  
Malfoy leaned in even closer, as he had done that night in the dungeons. "You've been very good at keeping our little secret, haven't you? The Mudblood matters something to you, does she? I'm afraid that won't help you stop me from making her life a living hell. You see, I don't generally take pity on things like her."  
  
Harry looked murderous and he growled with a voice sounding oddly like Professor Snape's, _"Things_ like her? Do you want to repeat that, Malfoy?"  
  
"Empty threat," the blond boy sneered, backing away slightly. "And you know it." Ginny was looking from one to the other, clearly confused, as she hadn't heard a word they had said.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry said loudly. "If you don't call off your dogs and leave Ginny alone, I'll hex you into a pile of shit on the floor."  
  
"Wouldn't make much of a difference in his appearance, really," Ginny said, glaring at the Slytherin. "I'd say his mother would be happy, though...he'd look loads better, nonetheless..." She pulled out her wand and muttered something, causing Goyle to let go of her arm as though he'd been burned. "I _told_ you to piss off. Come on, Harry, let's go."  
  
Harry looked Malfoy in the eye for a moment longer and hurried after Ginny down the corridor. His worry grew.  
  
"Do you think Malfoy was bluffing?" Ginny asked, and Harry could tell she felt the same as he did.  
  
"I don't know," Harry said truthfully. "I hope nothing's happened..." And if something had happened to Hermione...it would be his own fault. And he'd have to kill the blond Slytherin git with his bare hands.  
  
They didn't speak until they'd reached Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady was reading an apparently deeply absorbing novel when the two approached.  
  
"Ahem," Ginny said. The Lady stirred, blinking.  
  
"Password?"  
  
"Newt Scamander," Harry answered impatiently. The portrait swung open and they clambered inside.  
  
"Hermione?" Harry called, running over to the common room fire and finding her sitting on a chair. She looked up at him and confirmed what Malfoy had said – she looked like she'd cried her eyes out. Ron was perched on the armrest, his brow furrowed. He looked at Harry darkly and Harry sighed.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"The git's got a way with words," Ron said, looking at Hermione sadly. "I keep telling her he's just being a pure-blooded idiot and not to let him get to her, but..."  
  
"Oh Hermione," Ginny said comfortingly, sinking onto the large chair beside her. "What did he say?"  
  
"Never mind, I'm being silly," Hermione said, wiping her eyes. "Ron's right, I should've just told him to bugger off or something..."  
  
"He said the usual," Ron piped up.  
  
"He said I was a filthy Mudblood," Hermione sniffed. "And that I didn't belong here and just because I'm book smart doesn't mean I'm a true witch. I'm an embarrassment to _'his kind.'_ V-Voldemort is back and he'll be coming for people like me...Malfoy will personally make sure he tells his father that m-my family and I make him angry...I'm not worth anything...things like that..." She started to cry again and Ginny hugged her.  
  
"Remember last summer on the train home?" Ginny said, smiling ever so slightly. "How they were hexed into oblivion and left on the luggage rack to ooze?"  
  
Hermione choked out a laugh.  
  
Harry was boiling with rage. He pulled his robes over his head until he was in his jeans and t-shirt, and flung the black fabric over the back of a nearby chair. He couldn't imagine how Malfoy would dare threaten Hermione with Voldemort...that was horrible...  
  
"I'm going to murder him."  
  
"Now Harry," Hermione said warningly. "Don't do anything stupid."  
  
Harry looked incredulously at her. "Hermione...after what he said to you...what, d'you expect me to do nothing?"  
  
"I agree with Harry," Ginny said. "Let's just kill him and leave him in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom..." she winked at Harry and pulled a paper bag from one of her pockets.  
  
"Where'd you get that?" Ron asked her, eyeing the package.  
  
"Nowhere," his sister replied, offering Hermione a Chocolate Frog.  
  
Harry's scar prickled very unpleasantly again and he felt the beginnings of a headache spring to life in his temples. It was getting late.  
  
"I'm going up to bed," he said, gathering his robes and his book. "Headache...I don't want one when tomorrow rolls around...night all."  
  
Everyone bade him goodnight and Harry climbed the dormitory stairs, getting the nasty feeling that this was going to be another long night of nightmares.  
  
-------  
  
_It hurts, doesn't it?  
  
Of course it does. Because when I'm with you, everything hurts.  
  
I'm not going to leave you. I will always be here, watching, waiting, and speaking to you when no one else can help you.  
  
You are mine. You will never escape. I will never die.  
  
We are so much alike, you and I.  
  
It hurts...ah yes; I can feel your pain. Whereas you interpret pain to hurt, hurt so much that it stabs, it bleeds, it makes you whimper and cry out like a worthless, pathetic Muggle...I interpret pain differently. It is something to be rejoiced. A source of pleasure. When it hurts, I am happy.  
  
Does it hurt, Harry?_  
  
"Harry?"  
  
The black-haired boy came out of the innermost depths of his mind as though shocked, and almost like he was in slow motion, he turned his aching, burning head in the direction of the voice.  
  
The common room fire was roaring and he frowned slightly. When he'd stumbled down to sit by himself it had been nothing more than a few glowering embers. He sorely wished it wasn't Dobby, although he liked the House Elf, he wasn't in the mood for listening to babble. Then he remembered that if it were indeed Dobby, he would have been addressed as 'Mr. Potter.'  
  
Ginny was in front of him, looked at him, troubled. "Can't you sleep?"  
  
Harry didn't dare shake his head; the pain was standing on the edge of overtaking him completely. He couldn't speak and his throat felt red raw, like someone had taken sandpaper to it. He felt so feverish he would've liked to do nothing else but pass out, but he knew that..._he_...wouldn't let him.  
  
Harry was terrified.  
  
Ginny arranged herself cross-legged on the rug in front of his chair. Her hair was messy from sleep and she wore blue, baggy plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized and violently purple Weird Sisters t-shirt. Tonks would've been proud.  
  
The girl looked at him. "You look ill," she said. "You look very ill. Are you feeling all right?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes. _Go away._ He couldn't speak or move. He was paralyzed. He could feel another force...something evil...working through him, infecting each vein as it explored him. His mind ached and stung at the intrusion and he tried desperately to clear it. He was sweating. He was held fast by nausea, fear, and the knowledge that something was inside him that was not welcome. He closed his eyes, wondering if it could see through them as he did.  
  
"Harry? Why aren't you saying anything?" He heard Ginny move and felt her blissfully cold hand on his forehead.  
  
_"Merlin's beard,_ you're burning. Should I call for Professor McGonagall?"  
  
_No. Please don't,_ Harry thought.  
  
"D'you want me to get Ron?"  
  
_Do you care for this girl, Harry?  
_  
"Get away from me, Ginny."  
  
Harry opened his eyes and Ginny was looking at him, confused and hurt. "What?"  
  
"Go back to bed," Harry rasped. "I'm OK. I just can't sleep, that's all."  
  
_You do care for this girl, don't you Harry? Why? Has love ever done anything for you? Think about it. Think very, very hard._  
  
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His world had turned red and he wasn't looking through his own eyes anymore.  
  
Ginny screamed.  
  
-------


	12. Very Far to Fall

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

-------

Chapter 12: Very Far to Fall

Herbology...Defense Against the Dark Arts...

Lunch.

Charms...Transfiguration...

Dinner.

Quidditch tryouts.

Harry's day passed by him a hazy blur of colours, smells and sounds, all mingling together confusingly and causing him to hallucinate, grow dizzy, feel nauseated, become suddenly withdrawn. Everything was muffled to him, as though a veil separated himself and the world around him into two different places, two planes of existence. He felt detached from the people he so normally felt comfortable with as though they posed as a threat to him. For what purpose he couldn't quite determine, but he'd look at them sideways from time to time in distrust, his brow furrowed slightly, observing. He wondered what they'd do if they knew everything. He was sure they wouldn't help matters any, that was certain...and so he remained silent. He felt violent, thirsty, restless and fevered. This wasn't him. This wasn't him at all. He was worried but said nothing. If the people near him couldn't sense a change, then he must be fine. He was probably overreacting...

Still he troubled.

Quidditch tryouts that evening had gone absolutely horribly the first hour that they were out on the frosty pitch. Everyone who turned up was terrified at the sight of the bludger hurtling towards them and would dive out of its way and let it carry on across the pitch, not bothering to even attempt to hit it with their club. Angelina was exasperated beyond measure and all but called everything off until Ginny Weasley got up into the air and blew everyone away. She was an amazing player, and was given a position on the spot. The next one to fill the remaining Beater position was Dean Thomas, much to Ginny's displeasure, as the relationship between the two had barely lasted two weeks during the summer. Being from a Muggle family Dean had gotten quite good at the sport of baseball during the summers, and had decided to venture out and try his luck with Quidditch. It had most certainly paid off, and although Angelina later told Harry that she'd decided right on the pitch that Ginny and Dean would suit the positions nicely, she'd let the other's have a go just to be fair. No one was anywhere near the caliber of Gryffindor's newest players, however, and so now the team was set to begin training harder than ever before.

"Two Weasley's still on the team!" Ron said triumphantly as the group trooped back up to the Tower after tryouts. The sky had grown dark and the night had become so unbearably cold that nobody could bear the freezing winds that whipped at their faces and tore at their robes as they flew, so they were all granted leave.

"They won't be getting rid of us so easily, eh Ginny?"

Ginny smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "That's right, I guess...you'd better write to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in London and tell Fred and George the good news. Maybe they'll send us some free stuff as a reward."

Something was bothering Ginny and she really wanted to talk about it...but there was only one person with whom she could do that and at the current moment his emerald eyes were millions of miles away. She kept looking at him, hoping Harry would feel her eyes on him and look around to see what it was about, but his mind was elsewhere.

Dean smiled shakily at Ron and exhaled. "This is exciting! I never thought that I would be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Wow! What was your first game like, Ron? I don't want to be too nervous when we have to play Slytherin...tell me how you deal with it."

"I don't," Ron answered lamely.

"Here," Harry said to Ron, giving the redhead his Firebolt. "Can you put that on my bed or something for me? I need to go talk to Professor McGonagall about an assignment."

Ron absent-mindedly took Harry's broom and nodded slightly without speaking to him, his attention still on Dean. The two boys walked ahead of Harry, chatting animatedly as though he were invisible. Harry stopped to watch them and cast them a dark look (Ginny almost walked straight into him), then veered into a totally different corridor and strode down it. Ginny frowned and looked after him, puzzled. He still didn't seem to know she was there.

If Ron were paying attention, he'd remember that Professor McGonagall's office was on a totally different floor and the route Harry was supposedly taking was a horrible way to get there. Ginny followed the black-haired boy suspiciously down the torch-lit corridor, silent as a spider.

---

Harry wanted to be alone. Well, the more he thought about it, he might have liked at least _someone_ for company, but everyone was off doing other things. And the more he thought about _that,_ the colder he grew towards people in general, so he was back to wanting to be alone again. He sighed and rounded a corner, coming upon a set of darkened stairs.

He had no idea where he was going, actually.

He walked and thought. He didn't know what to think. He was so bloody confused and stuck with everything that every time he turned around he wanted to scream out loud and just damn it all to hell, make it go away. He wanted clearness; he wanted meditation, peace, fresh air, and isolation. He wanted so many things his heart ached with the weight, and he suddenly felt very selfish. What did he want, exactly? He'd asked himself this question every night since the summer began, and tried to sum everything up into one category.

Love? No, he didn't think so. Love was impossible for him; he'd learned that long ago. Whenever he'd find it somewhere, however small it might be in quantity, it would be stripped away from him just as quickly as it was found. Nobody loved him now and nobody ever did, except for maybe his parents, but look what love had done for them. Gotten them killed. No, love wasn't what he wanted. Or needed. It would only get him into trouble.

Then what the bloody hell was it? Peace? Yes, peace would certainly be nice...Assurance? Assurance against what...Voldemort? He shook his head and banished his thoughts. They were getting him nowhere.

He came to the top of the stairs and suddenly he recognized where he was: the doorway to the balcony off the astronomy tower. Harry grabbed the cast iron ring and pulled until the heavy wooden access opened and revealed to him a vast, endless, midnight blue sky, scattered with millions of sparkling stars, all twinkling, all glowing, all mocking him as he stood on the stone, dusted with the lights and pathways of the Milky Way. Harry's breath came out into the chilled night air in gusts of steam and he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, just staring up at the atmosphere.

Suppose his future was mapped out in the stars, as Firenze used to talk about so passionately (before informing them all that they'd never be able to decipher it themselves). Suppose he could determine what would happen in this war, as the centaur had called it, and what might possibly be the outcome of it all. How could these glittering, shimmering beacons of light yield so many mysteries and answers?

Harry walked over to the edge of the stone balcony and placed his palms flat on the wide ledge, which was raised and met him just at his middle. Hoisting himself up, he sat on the ledge and dangled his feet off the side. He dared to look down at the ground below and felt the sudden illusion as though he was going to fall. _So very far_, he thought oddly. _So very far to fall._ He looked down again into the inky blackness and could just make out the tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forest by the light of the crescent moon, which hung lazily in the sky as though suspended by wire from an invisible peg or hanger. He wondered what it would feel like to fall off a place as high as this. He knew what it felt like to fall, certainly, but still he wondered. He gazed down towards the ground, not really seeing it. Harry sighed. He never understood himself when he got into moods like this.  
  
Harry sat. He didn't feel the cold seeping into his skin, nor did he feel the wind caressing his face, his hands, or his robes. He felt nothing, absolutely nothing. Except sadness. This was normal, though. He'd adopted the darker emotions on as a natural part of his day, because that's all he felt more often than not, except the odd time when Ron would make him laugh; although that was becoming less and less of an occurrence. He absently rummaged around in a pocket of his robes and slowly pulled out a small, crinkled picture.

_Ah yes,_ he never went anywhere now without this photograph. He turned it over and looked upon it with empty eyes. James and Lily were beaming up at him and waving, Lily's hair done up with flowers for her wedding day. And beside the couple stood a young Sirius Black, his long hair tied into a ponytail at the back of his head, smiling festively along with the other two, looking healthy and full of life. Harry almost had to laugh at the absurdity of Sirius' lopsided grin, the way his eyes danced with light, the utter joy in his face...not knowing that in a short while the two people standing beside him would lay dead and twelve years in Azkaban awaited him. His stomach twisted into a horrible knot.

Harry was crying. He tried to banish his guilt along with the rest of his emotions, but it was upon him now and he was defeated. The guilt, the guilt, the ever-present guilt came in waves now and Harry squeezed his eyes shut as tear after tear dropped onto the photo, causing his parents and his godfather to flee lest they be soaked. Harry cried openly into the darkness, sobbing fully now, not caring if anyone could hear him. He didn't care. This was an example of how foolish love was. This is what it did to people. This is why he would never have anything to do with it ever again. He cried and trembled, his breath steaming out in front of him, his tears burning hot against his cold flesh. The pain of seeing Sirius was too much and he ripped the picture in half with a furious cry and let the pieces drop into the air, where they almost floated downwards like feathers and out of his sight. Someone might find them later, but no one would know who they were, if they were there at all.

Of course it was his fault Sirius was gone. He'd thought about it all summer. He had needlessly led his friends to London, endangering their lives as well, over some _stupid_ notion that Voldemort had Sirius. What could have Voldemort wanted with Sirius anyway? Harry had drawn the Order to the Department of Mysteries because of his act of selfishness. His need to...because of his _saving people thing,_ as Hermione had so delicately put it. It was his fault. His fault. His fault. His fault that so many good people were hurt or dead.

Harry wiped his face on his sleeves.

---

Ginny didn't know if she should disturb him. She peered out through the doorway, watching him while he sat in silence on the edge of the balcony, lost in his own thoughts, her eyes filling with sadness and compassion as she saw his shoulders shake with sobs. She felt like a bloody stalker and would have left him alone if she hadn't felt so strangely about where he was, if she didn't get such a bad feeling about everything.

She was going to emerge from the doorway when she saw that Harry was stirring and preparing to leave. Turning on her heels, Ginny hurried away out of sight.

-------

Hermione strode down the corridor from the library, tucking two new volumes into her already bulging book bag. Since everyone was at the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, she'd decided to stalk up on some potions books, and had studied Veritaserum until her head felt like it was going to explode, which was saying something for Hermione. She had found the newest additions to Madame Pince's potions library and couldn't wait to start reading.

She shook her head and smiled at herself...even_ she_ had to admit she was a little bonkers. Most people would only pick up the kind of books she had if they were being forced to do some complicated essay or an assignment they didn't understand. Hermione did it for fun.

She rounded a corner and didn't see the people that had emerged out of the shadows until hands had grabbed her roughly and pushed her painfully up against a wall. Hermione gasped and looked around wildly to see whom it was, praying that it was Ron or Harry playing a joke on her...

She groaned inwardly as Malfoy's face loomed close to hers.

"Hello, Granger," he drawled. "Where are all your little friends?"

"I'm really not in the mood," Hermione snapped. "So bugger off."

"Oh, touchy are we?"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes betraying her fear. He couldn't do this to her, she wouldn't allow it. She straightened her back and drew herself up to her full height, anger replacing her discomfort.

"Getting all Gryffindor and brave on us now, are you?"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Touchy?" she repeated. "Brave? I'd say it's more like severely pissed off."

Laughter. Slow, cold laughter from all around her. "Well at least I'm getting somewhere then, aren't I?"

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Did Weasley teach you that?" the boy whispered. "You _are_ seeing a lot of him, aren't you, Mudblood?"

The corridors were empty except for the four Slytherins that surrounded her. It was getting late. Hermione gave Draco a look so resembling Professor McGonagall that he laughed again.

"Sensitive subject, Granger? Do you think there's a chance in hell of Weasley ever having something to do with you? _A Muggle?"_

"She'd match him, though," Pansy said from Hermione's side. "They're both pretty ugly."

Hermione violently shrugged off the hands that were holding her against the wall. Malfoy's eyes were bright.

"I said go away," she repeated. "Or I'll hex you. How did being turned into a ferret feel, Malfoy?"

Draco's cheeks flushed slightly. "I wouldn't be so sure of myself if I were you, you filthy stinking Mudblood. Times have changed. If you anger me, I might have to let slip to a certain..._someone_...that you're inconveniencing my friends and I. And we all know how the Dark Lord just _loves_ to visit Mudbloods and Muggles such as yourself." He scowled. "Tell me...do you love your parents, Granger? Do they mean something to you?"

Hermione set her jaw and refrained from grinding her teeth. "Are you threatening me, Malfoy?"

"I suppose I am," the blond boy said quietly, looking her in the eye. Hermione pulled out her wand and her impatience overtook her. Draco didn't move.

"No magic in the corridors, Miss Mudblood Prefect," he said nastily, smirking.

Hermione had had it. She clenched her hand into a fist and punched Malfoy – again – catching him on the jaw. Angry cries erupted from all sides of her and Malfoy stumbled backwards, clutching his face. He looked up furiously and snarled.

Hermione held her wand out threateningly. "I'm going back to Gryffindor Tower," she said through clenched teeth. "And if I so much as feel someone behind me, I'll curse them into oblivion."

She turned on her heel and stalked away.

-------

The pain was too much. Harry stood in the shower and turned the heat up as high as he could stand it, and closed his red-rimmed and swollen eyes.

He hurt.

He hurt so much.

He wanted someone to tell him it was OK; he wanted to be told that nobody held anything against him... But there was no one. Because that wasn't true.

Harry felt the water trickling down his aching body. He looked at his bruises, some of which were beginning to heal, and stared at them for a while, thinking.

"_You will stay in here for the rest of your god-forsaken summer!" _

"_N-no...please...please!"_

Harry shook his head to clear it. He breathed heavily and punched the wall furiously and felt his knuckles open up. He punched it again and again and imagined it to be Uncle Vernon's head. The blood his hands were leaving on the wall was his Uncle's blood, and the more of it that turned the wall red, the more he punched it, imagining his Uncle laying bleeding and broken on the floor. Staining Aunt Petunia's new white rug a brilliant shade of crimson. _Oh, she would be so angry with him..._

The sound of the shower was all around him, encasing him, hiding him. Blood ran down his hands from his knuckles and dripped down onto the floor, fogging the water. Steam rose in billowing clouds around his body and he couldn't hear anything and nobody took notice of him.

Harry washed his hair carefully and turned the shower off.

He felt so much better now.

-------

Ginny pressed her face into her pillow and inhaled deeply. She brought her knees a little closer to her chest until she was curled up into a ball under her covers. A faint light spilled into the fifth year girls' dorm room from the night sky, and Ginny could just make out the sleeping forms around her. She sighed and relaxed, trying to rid her head of the thoughts and images that clouded it. _Fat chance._ When she'd crawl into bed for the night, everything on her mind would present itself to her, demanding to be thought about. All she wanted to do was sleep, but all she'd end up doing was thinking away the hours until it was early morning, which would mean another tired day of classes. Tonight was another night of thought.

She was confused about a number of things. The foremost was the previous night in the common room when she'd gone down to sit by the fire because she couldn't sleep. Harry had been there. He'd been strange...feverish, shaky, paralyzed. He wouldn't talk to her. And when he did eventually say something, it wasn't his voice...it had been higher, and very raspy, as though he had a very bad cold. And she could've sworn...

Ginny shook her head. No, she was being melodramatic, as her mum would always put it.

But as she'd looked into Harry's eyes they had suddenly turned red for a fleeting moment, almost like a cat's eyes with slits for pupils. And right after they had changed, Harry had passed out in his chair as Ginny screamed in surprise.

Well, it had been terrible. _Horrible._ She'd never seen anything as sickening as those eyes before in her life. More disgusting than when she'd walked into Fred and George's room once to put stacks of clean laundry on their beds and found a dead Doxy on Fred's pillow. No, it wasn't just the physical ugliness of it; it was the way it went into her head. For the eyes had penetrated deep into Ginny's mind as though prying thoughts out of it, feeling so violating and disturbing that even now, at the memory, she shuddered and drew herself up more into a ball as though warding it off. It frightened her. And it scared her also, because Harry was the one who had done it.

Wait, what was she thinking? Harry wasn't a Metamorphmagus; he couldn't change his features like Tonks could. And even if he had that ability, why the hell would he do that to her? Why would he choose something that looked like it would belong on a Death Eater?

There was something wrong with him. It was blatantly obvious. She just didn't know if she wanted to interfere with it. There was always the chance that he didn't want any help, and that would make him think of her as a clutchy nag. Which she really didn't want. Oh bugger it, out of all the males in Hogwarts she had to feel an attraction for the tortured one.

Shrugging to herself, she suddenly became aware of someone snoring loudly in their sleep and she groped for her wand to mutter a silencing spell at them before she fell into a deep slumber.

-------

"He was bothering you again?"

The flames crackled loudly in the hearth.

Hermione nodded tiredly and rubbed her eyes. "He and his miscreants found me as I was coming back from the library."

Harry closed his eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "Not as much as I hurt him. If he doesn't use a glamour spell tomorrow, we'll all get a nice view of a bruised jaw by breakfast."

Harry grinned and looked at Hermione fondly. "What'd you do, hit him with a textbook?"

"No, my fist."

A loud pop emitted from the flames.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. His mood had greatly improved. Any news that Draco was feeling pain, physical or emotional, was reason to celebrate.

"How did Quidditch tryouts go? I never got a chance to talk to Ron after he got back. He went straight up to bed, I guess."

Harry shrugged. "It was horrible until Ginny and Seamus got up. Angelina was thinking about canceling it altogether."

"I see."

Silence descended upon the two as they sat alone in front of the fire. Harry was draped exhaustedly across one of the armchairs while Hermione was tucked into the other one, a new potions book open on her lap. The girl was pretending to read, but Harry noted that her eyes remained fixed on the same spot. She was thinking about something.

"Harry..." she said quietly after a while longer, in which Harry had closed his eyes and begun to doze off.

"Mmmm?"

"Has Ron seemed...a little...distant to you?"

Harry wrenched his eyelids apart and met Hermione's gaze. He looked down. "Sort of. Why are you asking?"

"I've just noticed a change," she said, scratching her nose. "He's been really horrible to you lately and he won't talk to me as much as he used to. He's turning into a prize idiot, if you ask me."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I've noticed that too. I really don't care though."

"You don't?"

"Not really."

_Liar._

"Oh." Hermione looked slightly put out. She blinked a couple times and returned to staring blearily at her book. "He's your best friend, though. What made this happen?"

Harry winced as he clasped his hands together. The bandages he'd put on his knuckles were beginning to turn red and he sincerely hoped that his hands wouldn't bleed come the morning. He would use a glamour spell to hide the wounds, just as he was constantly doing on his arms.

_Don't think about that._

"Everything," Harry blurted. At Hermione's questioning stare, he shot her a warning look. He wasn't in the mood for long explanations. "I...we...I don't know. We're drifting. We've been drifting since fourth year."

"Oh, Harry..." she looked at him sadly. "I know. I'm sorry."

Harry's brow furrowed and he shrugged. "It's nothing."

Of course he was lying. The pain of Ron's rejection hurt him beyond words. The betrayal, the way he'd lately been shrugging Harry off altogether. It wasn't Ron and it hurt him, although in the past he'd told himself that he preferred being alone. There was the connection he'd always had with Ron that no one else had managed to establish with Harry, the kind of connection that would have you give your life for the other person if the situation arose. Now it was nothing.

Hermione closed her book softly and defied the laws of physics by cramming it into her bag along with the twenty million other books that were currently stashed there. She stood up and stretched, her robes wrinkled from where she'd been sitting.

"I'm going to bed, Harry. Will you be all right here by yourself?"

Harry nodded, suddenly hating the way she'd said that. As though he couldn't take care of anything. _Oh shut up, you're being selfish again._

Hermione bent down and placed a kiss on his cheek again before dragging herself towards the girls' dormitory stairs.

Harry's head leaned on the squashy armrest and he stared, mesmerized, at the fire once more, not knowing that Ron had heard everything.

-------


	13. Slytherin vs Gryffindor

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)  
  
-------  
  
Chapter 13: Slytherin vs. Gryffindor  
  
It was early morning. The sky was a dark gray and the air was damp with dew as the birds sang their songs through the silence of the waking world. So early that the sun hadn't even rose, and through the dim the mist was creeping and curling around the trees, the hills, the rocks, and the little hut which sat on the edge of the forest, the beginnings of smoke seeping out of the stone chimney as its inhabitant prepared tea. The earth was still.  
  
Severus Snape liked it this way. It was quiet, serene, undisturbed and fresh, as though nature was starting all over again and hadn't known any human habitation before. He always went for walks this early as Hogwarts still slept, grateful for the personal space and time to think that this allowed him. His days were getting so busy and hectic he wondered exactly how it was that he stayed sane, then he'd tell himself that he'd probably gone mental long ago and just hadn't noticed it. Too busy cleaning up Longbottom's melted cauldrons, he guessed with a small sneer.  
  
His boots were soaked with dew as he walked his usual path around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his black robes rippling in his wake. Somewhere above him an owl hooted eerily through the fog, and a drop of rain landed on his cheek. He glanced irritably at the sky. Didn't it normally _stop_ raining during the month of October?  
  
He sighed and began to round one of the massive corners of the school. A stretch of faintly visible mountain came into view and he suddenly stopped to pull out a mugwort plant by its root. He could use it later, and he stuck it in a pocket.  
  
The potions master paused again, and looked down once more on a sudden double take. A few feet away from the plant's previous home lay a torn piece of paper, and close beside it, another one. He snatched the two up off the ground and began walking again.  
  
It was a photograph; he registered, upon turning the paper around. He stopped dead and his breath caught in his throat in shock. It was James and Lily Potter, apparently on their wedding day. Lily's hair was done up with flowers...lily's, actually. How bloody ironic. Snape's eyes took on a strange gleam as he saw a young Sirius Black on the other piece, who would have been standing beside the couple, but was cut off from his two friends by the tear in the picture. All were looking very forlorn, and were studying the rip closely. Snape sniggered a little, but very half-heartedly. For some reason he didn't find this funny...he found it disturbing.  
  
_Potter._  
  
Snape looked up as though trying to see something directly above him in the sky but there was nothing, except for the astronomy tower, which was hardly viewable in such poor light. What was he looking for, anyway? He had no clue. He glanced down at the photo again and suppressed a shudder. These three people were dead.  
  
He turned around and began stalking back to the school, sticking the tattered bits of photograph into a pocket, suddenly not in the mood to walk anymore.  
  
-------  
  
"Do we have practice today?"  
  
"Don't think so. I think Angelina gave us the weekend off."  
  
"Brilliant...we've been training non-stop for weeks now."  
  
Ginny took a sip of her hot chocolate and smiled faintly across the table. She didn't know why she was awake this early, and from the look on Harry's face, he wasn't sure either.  
  
She tilted her head to one side, observing him, a small smile playing on her lips. "You know...your eyes are even more green when you're sleepy."  
  
Harry yawned and rested his own head on his hand. He smiled, meeting her gaze. "Haven't heard that one before."  
  
Ginny bowed in her seat.  
  
There were three other people in the Great Hall at the Ravenclaw table. Other than that, Professor Flitwick and Madame Hooch were reading yesterday's copies of The Daily Prophet up at the staff table, large steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. It was oddly quiet in the normally eventful room. The ceiling was misty and gray again and he found that he was beginning to like the cloudy weather.  
  
Harry took a gulp of his hot chocolate and silently blessed whomever it was that had invented it. He looked at Ginny who was chewing thoughtfully on her banana muffin.  
  
"What's on your mind?"  
  
The girl started and met his eyes almost hesitantly for a moment, and shook her head ever so slightly. "It's nothing."  
  
Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Liar."  
  
Ginny rewarded him with a provoked stare and quickly drank deeply from her mug again. Harry glanced amusedly at her and she nervously lowered her eyes.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well..." she said slowly. "I'm just thinking...Harry, do you remember that night a few weeks ago when you were sitting alone down in the common room...and I came down 'cause I couldn't sleep..."  
  
Harry's throat tightened. Yes, he certainly did remember it.  
  
Ginny put her hot chocolate down and squashed half of her muffin underneath it. "And you were all fevered and...and you were...I don't know, it was really dodgy, Harry. You wouldn't talk to me. You wouldn't move."  
  
Harry had been expecting this. He reached across the table and lifted Ginny's mug off her muffin for her. "I don't know what it was," he said, although in his mind he had a very good idea. He couldn't afford voicing it to her, though. Not like he didn't trust her...he needed to speak to Snape about it first, however daunting the task may be. He settled for remaining apparently unaware. "I had a weird dream that night and...I was debating on it with myself and...I don't know what it was."  
  
Ginny looked unconvinced and Harry blushed. "But your eyes..." she said quietly, her face changing to a look of utmost seriousness and concern. "They...they _changed,_ Harry. Didn't you feel that?"  
  
Harry gripped his mug tightly. The glamour spell was holding up well, and his knuckles looked unblemished. He really didn't want to lie to Ginny.  
  
"No," he said, almost in a whisper. The girl had to lean in to hear him. "I don't remember anything else...I think I fell asleep or something. Are you sure you weren't hallucinating?"  
  
Ginny looked at him searchingly. "I wasn't hallucinating," she said. "Something happened to you whether you remember it or not. I might have been tired, but that...that was..." She trailed off and picked at her mangled muffin uneasily.  
  
_Fuck it. Kill me now,_ Harry thought. Like she'd really think fondly on him now that she knew he was slowly turning into a replica of Voldemort. He narrowed his eyes painfully and bit his bottom lip. Oh, this was awkward. This was insane. This was...  
  
"Good morning Harry...Ginny."  
  
Harry jumped. Professor Lupin sat down beside Harry with a glass of orange juice and smiled heavy-eyed at the two Gryffindors. Harry could have kissed him for saving him like this. He smiled back at the Marauder and was severely grateful when talk turned to Quidditch and schoolwork instead.  
  
It was still quite early, but a few more students had begun entering the Great Hall for breakfast. Ginny drained the last of her hot chocolate and stood up.  
  
"I should be getting back," she said hurriedly. "The showers...best to get in and out before everyone wants to use them."  
  
Harry and Lupin bade her goodbye and sat in silence until she had disappeared from the room. Lupin turned in his seat to face Harry more. He looked at the boy for a moment, a faint smile playing on his lips.  
  
"We haven't exactly gotten a chance to talk since I arrived here, Harry."  
  
"I know."  
  
Lupin exhaled slowly through his nose and looked around blearily for a moment. Harry noted how pale he was getting. The full moon was approaching, anyway.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Lupin chuckled. "Don't feel bad, Harry," he said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Everyone's lives are...a little more disrupted this year."  
  
Harry nodded. He took a bite from his long abandoned piece of toast and crunched away on it, the bread suddenly feeling like rubber in his mouth.  
  
Lupin's gray eyes were sad. "I'm sorry I made you duel with Professor Snape," he apologized. "That was ridiculous of me."  
  
The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. "It's no big deal," he replied, forcing the bit of toast down his throat with a difficult swallow. "It was a little while ago. You won't believe what happened after, though..."  
  
Lupin looked at him inquiringly.  
  
"Snape and I started laughing," Harry said. "I didn't know Snape could do that and not die of shock or something..."  
  
Lupin's eyes brightened. "Snape laughed, eh? Perhaps he realized how ludicrous that whole thing was, too. It was a good duel, though, I must say."  
  
Harry grinned. "I wonder what Sirius would..." he stopped talking and looked at his breakfast as though it was suddenly fascinating. Lupin sighed beside him.

"Harry..." the older man said. He paused for a moment and Harry looked at him. Lupin was staring at a wall, his eyes glassed over as though not really seeing it. "I know what you're thinking, Harry."

"You do?"

"I do. And it's not your fault."

Harry gasped. His eyes filled with pain and he whispered, "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's true," Lupin replied softly, putting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Nobody holds anything against you, Harry. This is not your fault."

Harry murmured painfully, trying to make sound around the lump that was forming in his throat.

The Great Hall was steadily filling up with students and Ron and Hermione had just emerged and were heading their way.  
  
"We will talk later, Harry," Lupin said thickly, standing up.  
  
"Sure."  
  
-------  
  
"No, no, Dean...it does up the _other_ way."

Ron hastily rushed over to the new Beater's aid and helped him with a last- minute robe adjustment. Dean had the buttons all done up on the wrong clasps and he was holding his broom shakily, very green in the face.

"Thanks," he gasped after Ron finished while the redhead quickly resumed his position in the mouth of the opening that led from the dressing rooms to the Quidditch pitch. Ron gave him a quick thumbs up and the Gryffindor team waited anxiously to be called.

"Don't worry mate," Ron said encouragingly. "You'll be brilliant!"

The crowd outside was making a great deal of noise. Harry could just make out the waving of red flags all over the Gryffindor end of the pitch and he took a deep, calming breath to steady himself. Ron hadn't spoken to him all day and he couldn't figure out why. It was bugging him.

Harry couldn't wait to get out into the air. His morning had taken quite the unpleasant turn, but hopefully with the game his mood would improve. Flying always did that to him, no matter what. He couldn't help but smile to himself as his excitement overtook him.

"OK," Angelina said over her shoulder from her place ahead of Harry. "I think Lee's about to call us all out now. Good game everyone!" She smiled brightly at them.

"And here are the _Gryffindor's!"_ came Lee's booming voice as the team shouldered their brooms and began running out onto the pitch.

Harry sprinted forwards clutching his Firebolt and squinted as a blast of sunlight bathed him and the crowd roared madly in his ears.

_"Johnson, Spinnet, Bell, Thomas, Weasley, Weasley and Potter!_ We all welcome the two new Beaters to the team, promising new talent right here for the first game!"

The Gryffindor team stood on the pitch as Lee proceeded to call out the Slytherins.

"And here's the opposition, the Slytherin team! _Bletchley, Montague, Warrington, Pucey, Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy!"_

Deafening booing erupted through the crowds and the Slytherin end hissed and jeered loudly. Harry locked eyes with Malfoy as the green-robed players made their way out onto the pitch and smirked.

Madame Hooch strode out to the teams carrying the Quaffle under her arm. Angelina and Montague stood a few feet apart, their eyes sending daggers into one another.

"Captains, shake hands!"

Angelina and Montague shook - or rather, crushed - each other's fingers as Madame Hooch met them and gave the signal to Lee.

"Team, mount your brooms! And a fair game, now!"

Harry mounted his broom and saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Dean looked positively nauseous. Ginny on the other hand, was braced and staring defiantly at the Slytherin Beaters, her club clutched tightly in her gloved hand.

Madame Hooch blew her whistle and threw the Quaffle up into the air. Fourteen people kicked off from the ground and the bludgers and Snitch were let loose. Ron zoomed off towards the goal hoops and Harry's eyes followed the tiny, glittering ball as it flew swiftly off towards the Slytherin end.  
  
"And it's Bell, Bell with the Quaffle, tearing up the pitch like wildfire!" Lee was shouting into the roaring crowd as the teams went into action. The wind whipped through Harry's hair and he laughed out loud as his spirits soared. His worries and faults were shattered as he sped off after the Golden Snitch, catching the shimmer off its wings as the sun hit it.

A bludger whizzed by him, narrowly missing hitting the tail of his broom, and Harry was veered off-course. Crabbe guffawed from somewhere behind him and in the lapse of time it took for this to happen, the Snitch had vanished. Malfoy didn't seem to be tailing it, however, and Harry zoomed off around, squinting his eyes in search.

Suddenly there came a tidal wave of noise as the Gryffindor supporters were screaming their delight, and an excited Lee Jordan was yelling, "SHE SCORES! TEN - ZERO FOR GRYFFINDOR! My, that was quick!"

Harry grinned and looked round at Katie, who was smiling broadly and slapping Ginny a high-five.

"Your bloody girlfriend's on the team now, is she Potter?" came Malfoy's jeer in his ear.

Harry looked at the blond boy and shrugged. "Apparently...I mean, she's flying around with a Beater's club in her hands, but I could be wrong..."

Malfoy's lip curled and Harry sped off towards the Gryffindor goal hoops, passing Dean on the way.

"All right?" Harry yelled.

"I'm doing OK!" Dean hollered back, smiling. "This is great!"

"And it's Warrington with the Quaffle," Lee was bellowing. "Warrington of Slytherin flying across the pitch! Come on now, Beaters, show us what you're made of!"

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he stared hard at Ron. The Snitch was fluttering just underneath his left foot. Looking around swiftly, he spotted Malfoy a little ways off, whose attention was fixed the other way. Harry took his chance and put on a burst of speed.

Ron caught sight of Harry barreling towards him and just sat there, his eyes wide in shock as the crowd gasped and Lee cried out, "Oh my!"

_Just stay still,_ Harry thought to Ron. _Please just stay put..._

Ron panicked and lowered himself to make room for Harry to zoom by, meanwhile knocking the Snitch out from under him with his broom and sending the tiny ball zooming away again. Harry almost collided with the redhead and was forced to veer into a sharp circle to avoid knocking the boy over.

The crowd groaned all around them and Harry threw Ron a frustrated look before muttering, "Sorry," and flying off in the direction of the Snitch.

"Too bad, Potter," Lee said, his voice booming over the pitch. "Oh, nice bludger work there from Weasley! Spinnet has intercepted! Spinnet of Gryff - never mind, it's Pucey with the Quaffle! _Ah_...scratch that, it's Spinnet once more! Spinnet of Gryffindor in possession who passes it to Johnson - "

A furious cry erupted from the crowds and the Slytherins all hissed and cheered wildly. McGonagall was standing in the risers, hair escaping from her bun, waving and yelling furiously at Adrian Pucey, who had punched Angelina on the side of the head and had grabbed the Quaffle from her hands.

Madame Hooch's whistle sounded.

"PENALTY!" the crowd roared.

"Penalty!" Madame Hooch echoed, meeting the Gryffindor captain in the air and checking to see if she was OK. "And this soon into the game, too! Horrible tactics, I must say!"

Angelina nodded to show that she was all right and was prepared to take the penalty shot, her eyes ablaze with anger. Harry wrenched his gaze away and shook his head for clarity, and flew all around the pitch, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of a flash of gold...

Judging by the crowd's reaction a moment later, Angelina hadn't managed to score.

_"Scar face!"_ Malfoy yelled as Harry passed him again. Harry rolled his eyes.

"She's fumbled the shot, but it's still a ten - zero lead for Gryffindor!" Lee shouted into the air as the game once more resumed play. "And it's Montague with the Quaffle! Montague of Slytherin heading towards Gryffindor!"

A sparkle of gold. Harry looked, craning his neck...and fell back disappointedly. It was only Goyle's watch.

"Come on Weasley, you can do it..._aahhh_...Slytherin scores! Ten - ten tie between Slytherin and Gryffindor! Bad luck, Ron."

_"Weasley was born in a bin, _

_He always lets the Quaffle in, _

_Weasley will make sure we win, _

_Weasley is our King..."_

Malfoy was laughing madly. Ginny hit a bludger furiously and sent it hurtling at him, forcing the blond boy to dive out of its way.

"Spinnet passes the Quaffle to Bell - dodges a bludger from Crabbe - and reverse passes it back to Spinnet! Spinnet of Gryffindor in possession - oh, she's been hit by a bludger from Goyle and the Quaffle falls to Pucey! Oh, _nice_ bludger work by Thomas! That's a bludger to the head from Thomas and Pucey drops the Quaffle - caught by Johnson of Gryffindor and she's zooming up the pitch towards Bletchley!"

The crowd gasped and shrieked as the Quaffle was caught and dropped in rapid succession. Ginny and Dean were excellent Beaters, and made it hard for Slytherin to stay in possession for long.

Lee was thinking along the same lines. _"Smashing_ work done by Weasley and Thomas of Gryffindor!" he hollered excitedly. "Montague dodges a nice bludger from Thomas and Johnson still in possession...she's at Bletchley...YES! ANGELINA JOHNSON SCORES, TWENTY - TEN FOR GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor supporters were going mad. Luna's lion hat roared spectacularly above the noise and, laughing, Harry went on a wide lap of the pitch and passed Montague, who glared murderously at him. Harry saluted and kept going.

_"Aaaaand_ its Warrington with the Quaffle! Warrington passes to Montague who heads towards Gryffindor! Oh, what a nice bludger from Weasley and the Quaffle is dropped - caught by Pucey of Slytherin! _Spinnet intervenes_ - never mind - Spinnet hit by a bludger and Pucey charges up the Gryffindor end!"

Harry wasn't having much luck, and judging by the frustrated expression on Malfoy's face, he wasn't either. He desperately looked around the Slytherin goal hoops but saw nothing, and decided to circle the pitch once more.

"Ron Weasley of Gryffindor in for a save...ohhhhh!"

The crowd groaned again and the Slytherin end exploded with snake-like hisses. "Slytherin scores! Twenty - twenty tie!"

Harry was forced to roll in mid-air to avoid a bludger from Crabbe that he hadn't seen coming, due to him watching Ron at the goal hoops. He snarled and rose a few feet higher to let Dean in underneath him to smack the bludger off towards Montague, who was tailing Katie Bell.

"Gryffindor in possession! Whoops, Pucey now in possession - I hope that bludger didn't do any _serious_ damage, Katie - PUCEY FEINTS AND SLYTHERIN SCORES! That's thirty - twenty for Slytherin! Come on, Gryffindor, you can do better!"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall shouted warningly. "What did I say about being biased?"

The Gryffindor crowd was jeering madly at the Slytherin end, who were all singing _"Weasley is our King"_ as though trying to drown out the commentary. Ron's ears had turned bright red and his brow was furrowed in frustration.

"Looks like your precious Weasley friend _is_ rubbish after all," Malfoy sneered, pulling up beside Harry on his broom. "Make sure to thank him for me when we win!"

Harry grinned suddenly. Malfoy's expression changed to mingled smugness and uncertainty for a moment.

"Yeah?" Harry said, his emerald eyes sparkling. His fist snatched out in a blur of swiftness into the air a little behind Malfoy's head and Harry brought the struggling Snitch around and held it very close to Malfoy's face. "I dunno...this looks like a Snitch to me..."

_"He's caught it!"_ Katie was screaming. _"Harry's caught the Snitch!" _

Madame Hooch's whistle sounded shrilly and Lee Jordan was yelling. "POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS, ONE-HUNDRED-AND-SEVENTY TO THIRTY! Wow, and right from under Malfoy's nose, too!"

The Gryffindor team was flying at Harry in the air and they all collided in a mass of tangled robes and broomsticks, laughing and sinking slowly back to earth.

Harry couldn't see anything for the amount of bodies pressing up against him and he laughed as he grabbed the collar of Ron's Quidditch robes and held him there, restraining him from leaving. "Good game, mate," Harry said into his ear.

The Gryffindor's were screaming and clapping and making a good deal of noise, and there was so much confusion and crowding that no one saw the bludger coming until it was too late. A second later, Ginny was hit fiercely on the back and she was flung onto the ground in a heap of scarlet robes.

"GOYLE!"

Ron rounded on the boy, who lurked about five feet in the air on his broom. He furiously pulled out his wand and was about to curse him when Katie and Alicia grabbed his wrists and held him back.

"No!" Katie was saying shrilly. "Don't...let Hooch deal with him!"

"Is Ginny OK?"

"I dunno...oh, _sorry_ Harry...she's over here, Ron..."

Ginny was getting to her feet, but she was forced to hunch as she stood, and her face was contorted with pain. "What the _fucking bleeding hell_ was that all about?!"

"It was Goyle," Angelina said angrily, looking over her shoulder as Madame Hooch escorted him off the field by his ear. "Looks like he'll be serving detention tonight..."

"Ginny, are you all right?" Ron asked. Ginny nodded and smiled.

"Oh Ron...Quidditch is brilliant!" she suddenly raved excitedly, hanging onto her brother for support. "I had so much fun...Dean! Where's Dean? Oh there you are...wasn't that bloody _fantastic?"_

Harry felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned around to see Oliver Wood standing there, beaming at him proudly, looking taller and much more fit than when he'd seen him last.

"Hey, Harry!" he said fondly, ruffling his already horribly messy hair. "Great catch! I almost laughed myself silly when it happened!"

Harry smiled at him. "Wow, Oliver...it's been ages! How's Puddlemere United?"

"Smashing!" Wood said happily, adjusting his dark crimson robes and pulling the collar up against the chill. "Absolutely brilliant. Training is harsh, but it's great. You know, Harry, if you wanted to get into the league, I know a few people who'd be willing to have a look at you."

Angelina caught sight of Oliver and shrieked, then flung herself at him in a giant hug. Harry grinned and mouthed to Wood that he'd talk to him later, and picked up his Firebolt and followed Ron into the changing rooms.

Ron was moodily pulling his Quidditch robes over his head when Harry got in, and didn't say anything to him. Harry watched for a moment as Ron struggled with them, but the opening for his head didn't seem to be big enough to let him free and so he remained stationary for a long moment, wrestling furiously with the fabric. Harry took pity on him and went over to help.

"Hold _still_, Ron, the buttons are still done up," Harry said, undoing a few so that Ron could get away.

"Thanks," Ron said grudgingly, eyeing Harry with severe dislike. Harry was taken aback.

"What's the matter?"

Ron threw down his robes so they landed in a heap on the floor and rounded on Harry. "What's wrong? _What's wrong?!_ I'll...I'll fucking _tell_ you what's wrong!" He sat down on the bench and put his head in his hands.

Harry's mouth hung open and he stared at the redhead before sinking down onto the bench beside him. "Ron...did I do something?"

"Oh god, Harry," Ron moaned. "It's what_ I didn't_ do. I'm horrible at this! Every time we play I feel like such a coot...all I do is sit there and let Slytherin score. I look like a _prize idiot."_

Something in Harry's short-term memory was jogged at his choice of words, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He sighed and looked at Ron. "It's all right," he said. "Nobody's holding anything against you, mate. You're still a good Keeper, you've just got to take your confidence up a few notches and you'll be brilliant."

Ron met Harry's gaze. "I will, huh?"

"Bloody hell yes, Ron, I've seen you during practice."

Ron sighed and wiped his eyes. Harry's heart sunk for him. "Harry, do you think Hermione likes me?"

Harry choked. He stared, wide-eyed, at Ron and cleared his throat. That had been fucking unexpected. "Hermione?"

"Yeah," Ron replied, picking up his robes and stuffing them in his cupboard. "Well...do you think I'd have a chance with her, then?"

Harry realized his mouth was hanging open again. He quickly clamped it shut and smiled. "I don't see why not," he said, pulling off his own robes and folding them. Ron's face brightened.

"You honestly think so."

Harry thought. "Yeah," he said. "I mean, the way you two fight all the time...you already sound like a married couple."

Ron blushed and Harry laughed.

At that moment Oliver and the team poured into the changing room, all chattering excitedly and Harry had never felt so good in a long while.

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Thanks to everyone who's reviewing my story! I'm typing away like a madman, so I'll have more chapters up ASAP. Thanks again!! :)


	14. Trouble For Number Four

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

Chapter 14: Trouble for Number Four

Dinner had never been such a great event.

The euphoria of Gryffindor winning the Quidditch match against Slytherin was all over the school (except at the Slytherin table, of course), and everybody was celebrating the defeat. Oliver Wood had sat down with the Gryffindor's at their table and was talking merrily to them all about Puddlemere United. Ron was happier (and was listening to Wood intently), Hermione wasn't buried in a book for once, and the food was delicious. Nothing was wrong.

Except for one small thing.

"This is getting annoying," Hermione whispered across the table to Harry, who looked at her quizzically over his plate of meat pie.

"What is?"

"Snape," Hermione replied uneasily. "He's staring at you again."

"Probably planning Harry's death," Neville said with a half-smile, biting into a piece of fish. "Comforting, eh?"

"Very," Harry replied, making it a point not to look up at the staff table. "Not like he hasn't done it before, I'll reckon..."

Hermione grinned and looking up past Harry's shoulder, grimaced, and bent her head over her food very quickly. Harry turned around to see what she was looking at.

"Oh...hello Cho."

Cho Chang smiled uneasily down at Harry, her cheeks flushed. "I just wanted to say you did a really great job during the match." She said swiftly, twirling a lock of black hair around her finger. "It was a good one."

"Oh," Harry said, unnerved, and almost uncaringly. "Thanks."

"Your team is excellent," she went on, relaxing a little. "I wish I could play like that."

Harry smiled and turned to exchange a significant glance with Ginny across the table, who rolled her eyes and almost snorted as she drank deeply from her goblet.

"I'd better be getting back," Cho said breathlessly. "See you around, Harry."

Harry shook his head as he watched her walk back to the Ravenclaw table, a slight bounce in her step. "Well she's certainly changed, hasn't she? And why's she still here anyway...I thought she'd gone?"

"Oh please," Ginny said darkly, eyeing the girl with great dislike. "She's only talking to you again because she and Michael Corner broke up during the summer. I wouldn't be surprised if she starts bombarding you in the corridors."

Ginny dug savagely into her steak and chewed moodily. Harry looked at her in confusion.

Hermione laughed at Harry's expression. "I've heard that she's staying another year to get some extra courses in."

"Loads of people are doing that," Ginny said, looking down the table at Angelina and the rest of the group.

Hermione sighed and looked back over her shoulder. "God...Harry, will you smile and wave at Snape or _something_ so he stops looking over here? It's bloody creepy."

Potter looked happy.

This was definitely a change for him, considering every time he'd glanced at the boy he had looked the exact opposite. Snape was glad, but that didn't stop the nagging feeling that had built up inside him a while ago.

Severus Snape steadily picked at his porridge. He loathed porridge, and couldn't exactly put his finger on why he had ordered it for dinner; he wasn't really hungry anyway. The little raisins floating around in it made him want to throw up, and he concluded after some observation that the whole thing looked like the result of one of Longbottom's potions. He moodily sneered into the bowl when he felt an enthusiastic presence at his side. Glancing again at Potter, he sighed.

"Good evening, Professor Snape!"

"Hello, Hooch."

Madame Hooch sat herself down with a flourish and ordered a plate of baked potatoes and chicken. She grinned at him sympathetically. Snape wished her dead.

"No need to be so surely, Professor," the woman said, eyeing him and his progress with the porridge. "Just because Gryffindor won doesn't mean you need to sulk about it."

Snape raised his eyebrows slightly and, instead of hexing her, turned his attention back to his bowl. He thought about gagging into it and sending it back down to the House Elves. Maybe then they'd get the hint as to how horrible it was.

"Then again," Hooch continued, stuffing her face unpleasantly with potato and downing some pumpkin juice. "You're always surely, aren't you?" She chuckled and her yellow eyes glinted happily.

_Oh, you're bloody hilarious. Shut up._

Snape scowled at her and pushed his bowl away, glaring at the group of Hufflepuff students closest to him who dared to giggle so loudly in his presence. God, he hated the brats. They fell silent immediately.

"Professor Snape, may I have a word?"

Snape groaned and looked up. Couldn't people leave him alone for one bloody minute?

"Very well, Professor McGonagall."_ Piss off._

The Deputy Headmistress sat down on Snape's other side and turned to face him. She was clearly irritated and Snape's mood improved ever so slightly; anyone in or associated with Gryffindor could kiss his pale Slytherin ass.

"You look pleased."

McGonagall shot him a look, which clearly told him to sod off. Severus knew it all too well and he almost grinned at her.

"I was hoping you and I could discuss something."

"Well, I am sitting right here, so please continue." He tried to smile irritably at the old bat, his attempt coming out as more of a grimace. McGonagall tutted.

"Professor Snape, this has gone on far too long," she said quietly, taking a sip of her coffee and eyeing him with the utmost sincerity. "The fighting between Gryffindor and Slytherin has - "

Snape held up a thin, pale hand. "By _Gryffindor and Slytherin_ you mean Potter and Malfoy, don't you Minerva? The houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin have been quarreling for years and years now and I really don't think that will ever change."

"I suppose I do," the woman admitted. "You saw what happened after the game today. That act of ruthlessness on Slytherin's part was totally unacceptable! Miss. Weasley could have been seriously hurt." Snape sighed, annoyed.

"That act of _ruthlessness_, as you've so delicately put it, was not on Slytherin's part, but on the behalf of the moron who did it. I can assure you, I am having Goyle severely punished for it. I know what the bludger could have done. Now, Potter and Malfoy's...er..._squabbling_...on the other hand, is none of our concern. It so happened that the two idiots simply had no liking for each other from day one. That we cannot change. Potter landed Draco's father in Azkaban, for Merlin's sake. He won't forget it so easily. And," he added as an afterthought. "He's just beaten him at Quidditch. Again."

McGonagall sighed. "I know that," she said, her voice becoming a little more desperate. "But as their heads of houses it is our duty to see that no more of this goes on! Perhaps we could at least try to make the boys - "

"There is no chance in hell of Potter and Malfoy ever becoming friends," Snape interrupted, thoroughly annoyed. "You have my final words on this. I will not waste my time pursuing some fool-heartedly plan to bring those two to an understanding."

_How sentimental._

Snape continued. "If you yourself wish to do so, then I pity you deeply and hope that you will not be driven mad in the process. I daresay Malfoy certainly will not comply with your plans and I'm sure Potter won't either, so you would be well advised to abandon the thought altogether."

Minerva looked abashed. "So you won't help at all?"

"What do you want me to do?" Snape shot back incredulously. "Bloody lock them in a room and _force_ them to like each other?"

Professor McGonagall looked at him irritably. "Yes, well, we all know Slytherins are too proud, anyway..." She got up in a huff and stalked back to her seat beside Dumbledore, who was chatting animatedly to Professor Lupin.

Snape scowled darkly and looked over at Potter again, watching as a dark-haired girl from Ravenclaw finished talking to him and hurried back over to her table, giggling.

Giggling deserved detentions. A lot of them.

Snape massaged his temples and silently cursed McGonagall and her bloody Gryffindor's for beating out Slytherin yet again. The lot of them were so damn proud of themselves. He quickly looked away as Granger cast an exasperated glance in his direction over her shoulder. He'd have to take more house points away from her later. He wondered if he could get away with taking away the amount that Gryffindor had just won in one class.

It could be done. He snickered, imagining their faces if he ever did that.

"What're you thinking about, Ginny?"

Ginny looked up at Harry and shook her head. "I'm just thinking about something Trelawney said during class today," she replied, her eyes distant.

Harry looked at her sympathetically. "Taking Divination, huh? How d'you like it?"

"In some ways its interesting I guess," she said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, I've gotten some pretty accurate Tarot readings and tea leaf readings done by people. She, on the other hand...she's...special."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I guess she is. I would've thought you'd have Firenze, though."

"Obviously not," Ginny said, sighing. She drank the last of her juice and sighed.

"So?" Harry asked. "What did Trelawney say?"

"Oh," the redhead said. "She...predicted something kind of dark, is all. She said people were going to die somewhere."

Harry nodded and bit into a potato, not believing her. Trelawney usually had no idea what she was talking about and predicted deaths all the time.

"Well, I'm going up to the Tower to celebrate!" Ginny said brightly, jumping up and eyeing the large group of Gryffindor's who were leaving the room. "Are you coming?"

Hermione and Ron got up. Harry stayed behind.

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "Aren't you coming?"

"I will in a second," Harry said, finishing up his dinner. "I'll be right there, you guys go on. It's no big deal."

Ron ushered Hermione out of the room and Ginny threw Harry one last calculating look before following her brother.

Harry sat in silence for a little while; drinking very slowly from his goblet, glad to be alone for a little while. He almost grinned to himself listening to the hisses and insults that came from the Slytherin table, and resisted the urge to turn around and wave at them all. He felt better than he'd felt since the summer began...

_"And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?"_

_"Well...yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley."_

Harry laughed to himself at the memory of Mad-Eye Moody. He looked up at the staff table and received a wink from Professor Lupin, who was looking horribly sickly but happy, nonetheless. Harry smiled and, deciding that he'd lingered by himself long enough, rose from his seat and walked out of the Great Hall, accompanied a hearty round of applause.

Harry emerged into the empty Entrance Hall and made his way up one of the marble staircases, his feet echoing through the corridors. He was ready to bet everything he owned that those who were already in the common room had gotten out Butterbeer and were celebrating like mad, and he wondered how long he could stay before getting away to his dorm to flop into bed. He was tired.

Suddenly, he became aware of a second pair of footsteps following him down the corridor. Harry gripped his wand in his pocket in case it was Malfoy, and he turned around slowly to see who it was. His eyes widened in shock.

"Hello Harry. I hope you don't mind me following you."

"Cho?"

Cho stopped a few feet away and smiled at him brilliantly. She was absolutely gorgeous, but instead of his stomach doing its usual flip-flop like it used to, it sank until he was sure it had scarpered through the floor and down to the dungeons. Harry's eyes clouded slightly and he cleared his throat.

"What's up? Did you need to say something?"

Cho tilted her head to one side and said nothing, just looked him up and down for a minute. Harry felt his face flushing and he silently cursed her for coming to see him. She looked at him through thick lashes and smiled...and moved a little closer.

"Harry," she said, her voice smooth. "I know we didn't get off to that great a start last year with everything that happened."

"What, like with you going bonkers on me in that café in Hogsmeade, constantly trying to talk about Cedric, crying all over the place, and bringing your friend Marietta to the DA and brushing it off when she ratted us all out? You mean all that?"

Cho lost her seductive look and put her hands on her hips. "Harry...Marietta is a really nice person! She just messed up, that's all." She looked at him contemplatively for a moment and shook her head, grinning. "You're infuriating."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He settled for looking inconvenienced. Cho stepped closer to him and Harry frowned slightly. What did she think she was doing?

"I...I wanted to say," Cho said, her grin fading. "That I really like you, Harry."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"I really like you and that was a great Quidditch game you played today, and I just hope we can start over again."

"Start over?"

"Yes...forget everything that ever happened and start over."

"Start over. Forget everything."

"Yes..."

"Cho..." Harry impatiently brushed a lock of stray hair out of his eyes. "I can't just forget everything that happened."

"Why not?"

_"Why not?"_ Harry spread his arms incredulously. "Cho, if you haven't noticed, Lord Voldemort is back to power and everything that has happened in my life is, one way or another, because of him! I can't forget, Cho, it's impossible!"

Cho winced. Her eyes were sad. "I'm sorry."

She stepped closer. Too close. Harry went to back away, but she grabbed hold of the front of his robes. Harry gazed into her brown eyes, flecked slightly with yellow, and looked at the slight spattering of freckles across her nose, his breathing quick with nervousness. He couldn't believe this was happening...

"I really, really like you, Harry."

"That's flattering and all, Cho, but- "

Harry never got to finish his sentence. Cho pulled him roughly against her, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his. Harry's eyes widened in utter shock and he stood there for a moment, stunned, as Cho kissed him...

_This is wrong._

Harry broke apart from her and stepped backwards. Cho's cheeks were tinged with pink and she looked at him reproachfully, and then gasped at something behind Harry. Harry stole a quick glance and felt the floor beneath him disappear.

Ginny stood a little ways down the hall. It was clear she'd come walking from the portrait hole and had stopped dead in her tracks once she'd made out whom the couple was. Her eyes were wide and filled with betrayal.

"Ginny..."

"Sorry you two," Ginny called in a singsong voice. "Didn't mean to interrupt! I'll just go back to the Tower, shall I?" She turned on her heel and walked quickly back down the corridor.

Cho looked at Harry and laughed nervously. "Now...where were we?"

Harry narrowed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, breathing heavily. "You're a nice person, Cho...but you and I...well...er...it can't happen."

Cho coughed. "What do you mean, Harry?" Her voice was suddenly dangerous.

"I mean," Harry said. "That I have no interest in you as a girlfriend. I'm sorry."

Cho gasped. Her eyes filled with furious tears and she slapped Harry smartly across the face before stalking away from him back towards the Entrance Hall.

Harry's cheek stung, but he didn't feel it. He set off on a run towards the Tower and was just in time to see the portrait close after Ginny as she went in.

The common room was a mass of happiness, Butterbeer, singing, shouting, coloured streamers, and banners. The fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace and someone had spelled the flames to burn blood red and emit golden sparks the shape of lion heads which floated around in the air for minutes at a time before fading, and crimson candles were bewitched to hover over the room like in the Great Hall, so the space was flooded with light.

As Harry entered, hands rained down on him and he was clapped on the back more times than he could count, and a massive roar of cheering broke out over the Gryffindor's. Harry smiled and nodded more than humanly possible and accepted a Butterbeer from Dean, then tried craning his neck over his housemates in search of Ron and Hermione.

_"Wicked,_ Harry!"

"Great catch! Malfoy'll be smarting for a while after that one!"

"Good game!"

The flash of Creevey's camera.

Harry squinted and spotted Hermione in an armchair near the fire talking to a clearly distressed Ginny. A lion's head burst from the fire and landed on Hermione's sleeve, then dissolved into a poof of golden dust. Hermione brushed at it irritably and, noticing Harry approaching through the crowd, patted Ginny on the back and sent her off to the dormitories.

Harry freed himself of all the bodies and sat on the floor in front of Hermione.

"Er," he said breathlessly, straightening his robes. "Hermione...is Ginny OK?"

Hermione looked at him with pursed lips. "No."

_Ouch._

"What did she say to you?"

"What does it matter?" Hermione said disapprovingly, looking at him much the same way.

"It wasn't like that," Harry said quickly, desperate to get his point across. "Cho just sort of came at me and I didn't know what to do and then Ginny showed up right before I was going to tell Cho to bugger off...and she saw the wrong thing, Hermione, I swear."

Hermione looked suddenly amused. "So you admit it?"

"Admit – what?"

"You like Ginny!"

Harry's face flushed the colour of the fire and Hermione laughed and clapped excitedly. Harry suddenly wished he were upstairs. Several people turned to look at them.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered, her eyes bright. "I'm just glad...I thought you were still interested in Cho...and let's face it, she's not the most cheerful type, is she?"

Harry nodded and grinned back. He popped the lid off his bottle of Butterbeer and drank deeply, feeling the warmth spread from his head to his fingers and down to his toes.

He got up and yawned. "I don't know if I can stay up much longer," he said. "I might go to bed."

Hermione looked disappointed, but nodded. Ron began making his way over to the two from where he'd been talking with Dean and Oliver.

Hermione hugged Harry tightly and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll talk to Ginny for you tomorrow if you want," she offered. Harry scratched his head, relieved.

"Thanks."

The door burst open a little while later and Ron came into the dorm room. Harry turned around and grinned at his friend. "Hey mate. You going to bed too?"

Something was weird with Ron. Harry watched him as the boy crossed the room and stood near his trunk, breathing angrily, not really moving, his face flushed.

The door opened again and Neville came into the dorm, smiling. "Hey Harry!" he said happily, crossing the room towards his four-poster. "Awesome game today! You were brilliant!"

"Thanks," Harry said, staring at the redhead next to him. Neville opened his trunk and began shuffling through it.

"Ron?" Harry asked. "What's wrong?"

Ron smiled ironically and looked at Harry. "You asked me that this morning and I wasn't completely honest with you, Harry."

Harry sat on his own bed, looking at Ron apprehensively. "What?"

"I told you half of what was pissing me off," Ron said. "But I suppose now I should let you in on the rest, eh?" Ron pulled his robes over his head and threw them in his trunk.

Harry frowned. "What's...what's the matter?"

Ron thought for a moment, breathing heavily. _"You,_ Harry."

Neville stiffened across the room.

"Me?" Harry repeated.

"You! Wow, I can't believe you're _actually surprised _to learn that something's all about you again. Harry..._you fucking lied to me!"_

Harry looked at Ron, surprised. "What? I never lied to you!"

_"You did!"_ Ron shouted. His eyes were full of hurt and betrayal. "You told me that I had a chance with Hermione, you put a smidgen of hope into my head that I might be able to look at Hermione as more than a friend someday, but you've been taking her away from me all this time!"

Harry gaped at him, speechless.

"I see you two!" Ron went on, his fists clenched and his face the colour of his hair. "You're always talking, always laughing together, always hugging! She's always kissing you on the cheek and she talks to you...she never does that with me! You fucking lied to me, Harry...about Hermione, the girl you _know_ I fancy!"

Harry's heart was heavy. "No, Ron- "

"And another thing!" Ron shouted again. "A few nights ago you talked to Hermione again in the common room. You talked about me. You said you...you didn't care if I was your fucking friend or not...it didn't bother you that I was being distant...and yet you got pissed when I talked about _you! You said you didn't care..."_

"Ron..."

_"Always, it's about you!"_ Ron yelled horribly, kicking his trunk savagely. He looked like he'd had this on his chest for some time. "You...Harry Potter...the Golden Boy. _Dumbledore's fucking favourite._ The amazing Seeker that everyone worships, leaving the rest of us to stand in your dust. It isn't enough that you're Harry Potter, is it! Everything is always about you! You can get any girl you want, get away with anything just because Voldemort's after you, just because he killed your parents and put that stupid goddamn scar on your forehead that gives you so much fame...you can go anywhere and people will bow down to you...just...If you don't give a shit like I know you don't, then that's fine! I don't give a damn either! You have everything you could ever possibly want...just...fucking bloody hell, Harry!"

"Ron!" Neville said, his eyes wide. "What are you talking about? Harry wouldn't purposefully hurt you...why are you causing a row?"

"Of course," Ron growled. "He's a saint, isn't he?"

Harry felt his eyes prickling. "Ron, please...you've gotten it all wrong - "

"Shut it, Potter. I don't care what you have to say. Go see Hermione...I'm sure she misses you."

Ron glowered and stood there a moment, then wrenched the dormitory door open and slammed it shut behind him.

Dumbledore's head was in his hands.

He could hear chairs shuffling around him and mingled voices, and the crackling of the flames in the large fireplace and the chink of goblets and mugs as Molly prepared tea for them all. Dumbledore had a feeling that none of them would be able to drink it after hearing what he had to say, however. He sighed and felt terribly old, then remembered that he indeed was terribly old.

The kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place was beginning to lose its musty smell and acquire the scent of breads and chicken and foods as members of the Order spent more time there. Everyone had done their best to clean it up as much as it could be, and it was starting to look like an actual kitchen nowadays rather than an unused dump.

The noise was becoming less and less and the old wizard looked up at the people sitting around the table. Molly was placing mugs of hot tea in front of them all, casting anxious looks at the Headmaster every so often. Dumbledore surveyed them all with a grave expression and exchanged tired looks with Professor Snape, who already knew of what was coming. It wouldn't be long before the Daily Prophet got wind of the situation, and they had to think of something fast if the story was going to avoid being published in the morning issue.

Dumbledore sorely sighed and wished he were back in his own office, immersed happily in the duties and responsibilities of being a Headmaster and not having to worry about any of this. He cleared his throat and an immediate silence fell over the room.

"Thank you all for coming tonight, I know it's late."

Several people nodded in response and murmured a small greeting.

"It has come to my attention," Dumbledore began. "That an attack has occurred on a Muggle family in western Surrey by Lord Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters."

There was a collected gasp from all the members of the room.

"So it's begun then," Moody said gruffly.

Dumbledore exhaled loudly and went on.

"You all might notice the absence of some of our number tonight. These people have gone to the site with a number of highly skilled Healers from St. Mungo's Hospital, and are taking care of the scene. However, we need more help."

A stony silence met the old man. He looked around at them all.

"Auror's Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt are at the home, along with Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall, Emmeline Vance, Arthur Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Bill Weasley, Elphias Doge, and several Ministry officials. The last report to me was that three Death Eaters have been captured and taken to the Ministry of Magic to be charged and sent to Azkaban - "

"Oh..." Molly Weasley said, her eyes wide and fearful. Dumbledore gestured to allow her to speak.

"Azkaban," she said uneasily. "But the Dementors..."

"...Aren't there anymore, quite correct, Molly," Dumbledore finished, nodding. "No, we all know the Dementors are outside Ministry control now and have swelled Lord Voldemort's ranks. We now have what few Auror's we can spare and more Ministry workers guarding the prison, but it is indeed now less horrible there now that the effects of the Dementors are absent."

He paused and stared at the steam twisting lazily from his mug of tea. Almost everyone in the room was relatively new to the Order, but many original members were present. Alastor Moody sat, his magical eye staring around out the back of his head in case Kreacher was eavesdropping. Dumbledore's brow furrowed.

"Also in the report was that Lord Voldemort was absent when everyone arrived, but the few Death Eaters that remained escaped except for the three that were taken in."

"And what of the family?" Lupin inquired, his gray eyes alert and worried.

"The family...is dead."

Another round of gasps and shudders ran through the occupants of the room. Several people put their head in their hands and Molly clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

"They were found in the home after the fire had been put out, evidence of torture on their flesh, both physically inflicted and also that of the Cruciatus Curse. They appeared to have been killed, however, using the Avada Kedavra curse. We have been and are going to be encountering severe trouble with Muggle services such as the Fire Department and Police, and the Hospital Doctors who will no doubt already have arrived. Over a dozen service workers have already had their memories modified, and the entire street has been awoken and have had memory modifications administered in case someone saw what had happened."

"So the house had been set fire to?" asked a middle-aged witch wearing olive green robes.

"And demolished," Dumbledore added, nodding. "The inside was a hideous mess."

"And do we know the purpose for this attack?" Lupin asked, glancing once at Snape, who was sitting rigidly in his chair, his eyes closed, his hands gripping the table edge.

Dumbledore paused for a very long time. "The attack occurred around midnight while the family slept, at number four, Privet Drive. For those of you who don't know this, that is the address of Harry Potter's only living relatives."

A wave of cold goosebumps washed over Lupin and he stared, horrified, at Dumbledore. Molly burst into quiet sobs at the end of the table.

"I am asking for more volunteers to go down and help us clear up the mess," Dumbledore said, strained, as a heavy silence descended on the group. "We also need to make sure that none of this gets into the Daily Prophet, or we most likely will encounter mass panic throughout the Wizarding Community, not to mention more public strain and unnecessary light shed on Harry himself."

Almost at once, every single person at the crowded table had stood up and nodded to the ancient wizard, saying that they would go down to assist. Dumbledore nodded back at them all, grateful beyond words and touched at the amount of loyalty and help he was receiving. He waved a hand, thanked and dismissed them all, and several loud _cracks_ emitted as they Disapparated on the spot.

All except for Snape, Molly, and Lupin.

"You wanted me back at Hogwarts, sir?" Snape asked, his onyx eyes serious.

"I would like an Order member to be there, yes," Dumbledore replied. "I've told Minerva not to stay there long, but who knows..." Snape nodded and Disapparated immediately.

The silence was eerie that descended on the large room. Molly was wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robes and Lupin was staring sadly at his hands, which were clasped on the table in front of him.

"Oh Dumbledore," Molly whispered. "What are we going to tell Harry?"

Lupin looked up and nodded. "Will he be staying here during the summer now?"

"He will be," Dumbledore said, now thoroughly exhausted. "We don't have the protection of the charm his mother placed on number four when she died, however..."

"Couldn't that charm have saved the Dursley household from such an attack, though?" Molly asked, hiccupping.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore replied, standing up. "As Harry was not there at the time, the charm did not apply. That is its downside."

"Indeed," Lupin said. "Do you want me at Hogwarts or at Privet Drive, sir?"

"Me as well," Molly added.

"You can stay here, Molly," Dumbledore said kindly. "There is no threat to you here, this place is very well protected. Professor Lupin...I would really appreciate it if perhaps you could return to Hogwarts and...and tell Harry what's happened. I know that I'm asking you to do a hard thing, but since you're the closest thing to a relative Harry has apart from the Weasley's..."

Molly sniffed again and went off to the large kettle hanging in the hearth.

Lupin nodded a few times and attempted a smile, but had no luck. "All right, Headmaster." A loud _crack,_ and he was gone.

How had such a good day turned so sour so quickly?

_"Silencio. Colloportus."_

Harry turned from the door and faced the room, not bothering to wipe the tears off his face. He stood in the middle of the girls' loo, breathing raggedly.

_"You fucking lied to me!" _

_"If you don't give a shit like I know you don't, then that's fine! I don't give a damn either!"_

_"It's always about you! The amazing Seeker that everyone worships..."_

_"You are just like your father...and now you know that's nothing to be proud of."_

_"...Clogging my household with your filth, your stench, your worthlessness, your abnormality..."_

"I'm not worth it! I don't know _how_ to be perfect!" Harry screamed into the silence. Nobody responded. That single voice of hope and comfort he had so sorely wished for during all these years still did not respond. It never would.

Harry exploded.

He screamed and pointed his wand at a mirror where it shattered with a deafening crash and showered the sinks and the floor with shards. Harry put his fist through another one and another one. He screamed again and again. He cried again and again.

_"It isn't enough that you're Harry Potter, is it!"_

"Shut up!" he yelled. "Shut up...I'm not worth it...I'm worthless, all right? _I'm fucking worthless! _Are you happy now?"

_"You have everything you could ever possibly want..."_

Harry closed his eyes, covered his ears, and screamed again. He tried to scream loud enough for the mangled soul inside of him to crawl out his mouth and leave him alone...tried screaming to free the part of him that was eating him alive...

He picked up a glass shard and threw off his robes. His bare arms greeted him and he pressed the glass to his skin. A thin red line appeared in its wake and blood seeped out of the wound. Harry bent over a sink and let his tears fall as he made mark after mark on his flesh, letting the glass go deeper than he had ever done before, feeling his hurt seep out of him with every droplet of blood.

_"You...Harry Potter..."_

_"I might talk to you later...unless you don't think I should risk it?"_

_"As long as it takes for the message to 'sink in'..."_

_"You'll soon find out that some wizards are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."_

_"Dumbledore's fucking favourite..."_

Harry gasped. He stopped cutting and let the shard fall into the sink with a clinking noise. He stood there for a while, gripping the porcelain tightly, shaking...then he sunk to the floor in a heap. He was no longer aware of the destruction around him.

_Ron hated him._ Harry had been an idiot and hadn't appreciated the friendship he had gotten from him, and now he'd lost Ron forever. And now, maybe Ginny too.

Harry's anger built up in him. If Ron was too stupid to see that he, Harry, had no interest in Hermione, then that was his fault. And if he was going to throw their friendship away over some stupid thing like jealousy...

"It's _my_ fault," Harry countered himself miserably. "Because I'm Harry Potter. Famous. I have..." and his fingers trailed the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead lightly. "I have this."

He squeezed his eyes shut and a sob escaped him. There were no words to describe the emptiness he felt inside himself, the utter loneliness, and the cold. The hole that threatened to suck him into its black abyss. He felt his heart tear open and everything pour out of him and he screamed out all his sorrow and scratched the glass shards out of his knuckles. Everyone was hurt because of him. He sat up again and made his pain bleed away, the stinging like flames dancing along his bare skin, scorching away the darkness...

"You shouldn't be doing that."

Harry looked up with a start and saw Moaning Myrtle floating a foot above the floor in front of him. She was looking at him with her huge orb-like eyes, wet from crying.

"Sod off," Harry growled.

"Really," Myrtle said softly, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from him and holding out her hand. "Harry, please...give that to me." Her eyes were sad. When were they never sad?

Harry stopped and held the shard in his hand tightly. His eyes narrowed. "Go away."

Myrtle sighed. "Harry, don't do that to yourself. That's bad." She looked at him sorrowfully and her shoulders were slumped. Her chin quivered. "Please...just give that to me and clean yourself up. You don't have to do this."

"What do you care?"

"I care about _you."_

"Why?"

"Because you're the only one who was ever nice to me."

Harry gazed at her. She looked so sorrowful and pathetic with her tears running slowly down her face...Harry wondered if he looked the same way. He was touched, though, by what she said.

He bit back a fresh wave of tears and held out his hand to drop the shard into Myrtle's, only to have it fall right through it onto the floor. Myrtle smiled and looked at her pearly white hands almost humorously before she focused her eyes on Harry once more.

"Thank you."

Harry was trying so hard not to cry.

"I don't know what you're going through, Harry, but I'm always here if you ever need to talk, you know."

Harry looked at the ghost through watery green eyes. "How could Ron say..." he whispered through the painful ball in his throat. "That I have everything I could ever want?" His voice dissolved into nothing and he choked back a sob. "He knows nothing...he doesn't have any idea..."

Myrtle gazed at him in understanding. "It's OK. You can cry in front of me."

And Harry did. He lay on the floor and sobbed into the cold stone tiles until he couldn't sob any more. He cried out his heart, his soul, his mind, and every bit of pain and hurt that swelled inside him, every corner of darkness, every memory, every drop of blood. He cried it all out until his head hurt and his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. And all the while Myrtle sat beside him, humming a small tune and attempting to run her fingers through his hair; but the cold her hands inflicted on him was soothing, nonetheless.

Harry was shaking horribly. He sat up and wiped his wet face on the sleeve of his robes and tried to get a grip on himself.

"You scared me," Myrtle confessed.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized. "I didn't mean to."

The ghost drifted upwards until she was floating a few feet off the ground. Harry stood up as well. He sniffed and wiped fresh tears off his cheeks. Myrtle smiled at him and slowly drifted off into her cubicle again, where there was silence.

Harry looked at himself in the remaining pieces of glass in the mirror. He glanced down into the sink and turned the faucet on, holding his stinging, bleeding arms underneath it. He winced as the red stain washed away, leaving fresh, deep gouges on his skin, angry, snakelike, twisted. Harry stared at them and felt strangely better.

Snape was worried about Harry.

He had Apparated at the gates leading up to Hogwarts and scolded himself for not using the Floo network. It would have been much quicker. He strode up the dark road to the double doors of the school and muttered the spell allowing him to enter. Lately the doors had been magically sealed past a certain time unless Dumbledore knew of someone outside who needed to get in afterwards. They creaked open and Snape billowed past into the dimly lit Entrance Hall.

He shook his head as he stood there by himself, the heavy doors closing behind him, the distant cackle of Peeves echoing all around the Hall. Something wasn't right...something was out of place. His eyes flicked to the door that lead down to the dungeons, which was gaping open at him. He didn't feel like going down there. It was very early in the morning and he really should be getting some sleep, but the night's activities had left him wide-awake and paranoid.

The man took the stairs that led to the upper corridors, his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his robes, his heart hammering, his mind going in so many different directions he didn't know what area to focus on first...

Which made it even more ironic when none other than Potter himself came around a corner and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw whom it was.

Snape stopped as well. He had oddly never been so glad to see Potter before in his life. "Potter," he called. "Come here."

The boy slowly trudged closer to his potions master. Snape immediately knew something was wrong.

"Potter, what is it?"

"I went for a walk," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably. Snape raised his eyebrows tiredly.

"We both know that's not the case. Potter...show me your arms." It was what he suspected. What he knew to be true. What he'd seen.

Potter started. Frowned. Turned a ghostly shade of white. Trembled.

"My arms, sir?"

Snape nodded.

"But...why?"

Snape snickered. "I have a knack for knowing when something's wrong. And...due to past circumstances..." Harry flushed and angrily looked at the floor.

"All right," Snape said. "If you don't feel like talking here, then please accompany me to my office. Professor Lupin will be there shortly. He has something to tell you."

Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. You guys all rock! :) I realize I've made a huge mistake with some of the characters I have currently attending Hogwarts that aren't supposed to be there, but meh, I tried to fit them in anyway. Heh heh...Sorry everyone...and again, thanks soooo much for reviewing.


	15. Green Is Not Your Enemy

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names, and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

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Chapter 15: Green Is Not Your Enemy

Mrs. Doreen Frizzle of number five, Privet Drive, sighed and was interrupted from her favourite television programme as yet another commercial splayed across the screen. This was getting bloody ridiculous. She frowned petulantly.

"And don't wait!" a well-dressed man was saying as the commercial for a new toaster oven took over the tiny television. "Order now and we'll throw in a brand new spatula with the new, extra attachment _absolutely free!"_

"Right," Mrs. Frizzle snorted, eyeing the ad with great suspect. "You'll have to pay some other dodgy fee they don't tell you about when you're buying it just to _get_ the spatula. Sodding liars, the lot of them. Isn't that right, Ed?"

Her husband Edmond was sitting stiffly on the other end of the sofa, gazing fixedly out of the window. "I suppose so."

"Oh, don't lean on the armrest so, you'll upset the doilies!" Mrs. Frizzle scolded. "I spent weeks crocheting them, you know."

The small living room was dimly lit by one single lamp in the far corner, casting the space into a yellow conflict of shadows and lights.

"Wonder what's going on at number four," Ed mused absent-mindedly, getting up to peer through the white lace curtains out the window to the house across the street.

His wife tutted. "The Dursley house? Any disruption made on this street's because of them. I was chatting to Arlene the other day and she agrees with me. It's that boy Petunia's got stuck living with them, I said. The one that attends that school for the criminally insane."

"I thought it was for schizophrenics," Ed muttered, squinting through the dark. "My...there are _people_ outside their home! Quite a few, in fact. My, my, my, those are odd clothes they're wearing..."

"Must be that boy, then," Doreen said wisely, nodding her head a few times, absorbed in another commercial advertising a sale at the local fabric store. "Oh look at this, Ed...only fifty pence a yard! Is that a deal or is that a deal? I'll have to ring Arlene later and go down."

"Dodgy..." Ed was saying to himself. "Definitely dodgy...I wonder what on earth they could be doing? Dear me, I hope they're not burglars." He glanced darkly out the window one more time before restlessly returning to the couch.

Silence elapsed in the Frizzle home as neither spoke. Ed clasped his hands together in his lap and stared at the TV as his wife's favourite sewing programme came back on.

"You have to work the needle into the fabric like this," a woman was saying as the show resumed, following the lines in a fabric using red thread. "To get the desired effect. See, Michelle, how that works?"

Another woman smiled appreciatively. "Gorgeous, Dotty, simply gorgeous! The colours you've chosen for this pattern really stand out."

Ed couldn't get interested in quilting. Watching old ladies putting pieces of metal into blankets wasn't his idea of entertainment...and he found himself staring out the window again, squinting.

Wait...something was strange. A lot of yellow light was shining out of one of the Dursley's upstairs windows onto the house beside it. The man's brow furrowed and he watched for a minute as it began to get brighter. A faint acrid smell suddenly began wafting into the living room and with a horrified start he was up off the couch and over to the window, his eyes wide.

"Doreen...ring the fire station!"

"Why?"

"Because the Dursley house is on fire!"

_"What?"_

Doreen was at his side at the glass, her eyes equally as wide as orange flames were beginning to find their way out of the upstairs window. Thick, black clouds of smoke were pouring out of the opening and as the two stared, three brilliant flashes of green light shone into the atmosphere before more robed, masked people began streaming out of the home and _disappearing._

"What in the name of arse is going on?" Doreen gasped disbelievingly, suddenly shaking. "Those p-people just...they all just...b-but..._people don't just disappear, Ed!"_

"Must have been a trick of the light," her husband said, alarmed, rushing into the hall for the telephone.

"Oh, there's the Neeson's looking out their windows too," Doreen observed, glancing down to number two. "I wonder what's happened!"

A distant wail erupted through the night.

"There, they're coming," Ed said, going back to join his wife at the window, holding the lace curtains aside for a better view. "And look! Isn't that old Mrs. Figg coming along the street? The dodgy lady that's always hanging around here?"

Suddenly, with a quick succession of loud _cracks_ that were audible even to them, a good deal more people suddenly appeared out of nowhere on the front lawn and began rushing into the house, except for two dark figures that started to creep around the outside towards the back.

Doreen screamed and covered her face. "More of them!" she hollered, running to collapse on the couch. "People are disappearing and appearing out of thin air, Ed! Am I going crazy? Are you seeing it too?"

A sudden sharp knock came at the door and, not waiting for anyone to answer, a young woman with bright spiky pink hair burst into the room wearing long, black robes. Doreen screamed again.

"Is there anyone else in your home?" she demanded breathlessly, her eyes wide and alert. Ed shook his head and was about to ask her what she was doing in his house when she pointed a stick at his wife and yelled, _"Obliviate! Stupefy!"_

Doreen was struck silent and looked dazed for a moment, then keeled sideways and went limp.

_"Obliviate! Stupefy!"_

Ed knew nothing more.

---

Harry's eyes were wide with shock. He was totally floored. "Dead?"

Professor Lupin nodded. Snape paced his quarters, his hands clasped behind his back.

"But...why?" Harry asked, his entire body going numb. This was unbelievable. "Why them?"

"We don't know," Lupin replied. "Dumbledore thinks that it was done to break the spell your mother placed on the home. To free you from that kind of protection. It _is_ a good theory, at any rate."

"No," Snape said darkly, staring at the Slytherin crest that was carved out of the wall in stone above the fireplace mantel. "Dumbledore's theory is true. I feel that's _exactly_ why the Dark Lord did it."

"But..." Harry said falteringly. His brain didn't seem to want to function. "They're...they were the only family I had left..."

His emotions were mixed. Very mixed.

Lupin placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know you never had that great a time there, Harry," he said comfortingly. "And yes, they were your only living relatives...I'm sorry. I'm sure they loved you deep down."

Harry's eyes suddenly blazed. "No, they never did. They made that clear every day and every night."

Snape stiffened. "What do you mean, Potter?"

He was facing the black-haired boy, detecting something buried deep. "Did you wish to share anything with us?"

Harry looked at him defiantly. "Nothing, sir."

"Are you sure?" Lupin asked worriedly, glancing at Snape. "I will ask this again, Harry. Were you all right during the summer?"

Harry looked searchingly into Lupin's gray eyes. "Those letters..." He trailed off, looking past Lupin somewhere and breaking his gaze. "Were true."

There was silence, save for the crackling of the fire.

Snape found what Harry had to say very hard to believe. They still hadn't gotten to the bottom of the bruises Pomphrey had found on the boy after his run-in with the Slytherins. Of course, Snape knew who had hurt Harry that night. He couldn't go and tell Dumbledore or Minerva though, without any proof. Harry wouldn't admit it, and he was sure Draco wouldn't confess.

Suddenly the flames leapt high and turned emerald green, and the _whoosh_ of someone using the Floo network sounded. Tonks stepped from the hearth and dusted herself off, holding a book.

Snape and Lupin looked up.

"All right?" Lupin asked urgently. "How is everything down there?"

"We're cleaning things up," Tonks gasped, adjusting her black robes. Her hair was a brighter shade of pink than Harry had last remembered it to be. "The neighbors are being horribly nosy, though...everything's a real mess. Wotcher, Harry." She held out a slightly charred book to him and Harry took it with trembling fingers.

"One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi," he read aloud, flushing. Snape looked at him irritably.

"Whose copy have you been using instead, Potter?"

"Ron's," Harry answered painfully, feeling his throat constrict. "Sorry sir...I knew I'd forgotten this somewhere..."

"We found it in your room," Tonks informed him.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled.

"Right," the woman continued tiredly, turning her attention to the Professors. "I'm here to give a small report. We've caught two more Death Eaters and Bill Weasley and Shacklebolt have been taken to St. Mungo's, but we think they'll be all right."

"What happened?" Lupin asked.

"Kingsley got five Stunning spells in the chest, and Bill had his left arm really badly broken with the Brochaeus hex. The bone was sticking out of his arm and everything..."

"And the Death Eaters?" Snape inquired sharply as Lupin made a slightly unpleasant face.

"No idea who they are," Tonks replied, fishing more Floo powder out of a pocket. A deep cut was situated over her left eyebrow and was bleeding badly. She kept wiping the blood away with her hand impatiently to keep it from running into her eye. "Their masks were on when we managed to get them with the anti-Apparating jinx, and Dumbledore held them while I went to see if Bill was OK - "

Snape nodded. "All right. Anything else?"

"Nope, that's about it," Tonks said, turning to leave. She looked at Harry. "Sorry about your relatives, Harry."

Harry nodded stiffly. "Thanks," he replied as she stepped into the green fire once more.

"Number four, Privet Drive!" A soft _whoosh_ and she was gone.

All was silent once more. Lupin stared at the clearly distressed boy for a long time, feeling powerless to help him, his own emotions mixed regarding the situation. Harry didn't seem to want to talk, however, and the man stood up.

"Well," he said. "I think I'll head off...I need something to perk me up a bit...full moon's coming..." He winked at Harry, smiled sadly and nodded to Snape.

"I'll see myself out. Thank you for letting me come down here, Severus."

Snape's lip curled, but he said nothing.

Lupin bent down and looked Harry in the face. "Remember," he said seriously. "If you ever need to talk, Harry...I am always here, OK?"

Harry just nodded.

As the door closed behind Lupin, he suddenly realized that he was alone in the potions master's quarters. Snape was probably pissed that Harry wasn't leaving too, so Harry stood up and tucked his book under his arm.

"Where are you going, Potter?"

Harry paused. "What d'you mean, sir? I'm going back to...Gryffindor Tower, I guess."

Snape surveyed him critically, his onyx eyes narrowed. "No you're not. Sit down."

Harry regarded Snape suspiciously, but sat once more, getting a feeling he knew what this was going to be about. His potions master billowed across the room from the fire to sit at his desk, where he ruffled through some papers.

Dark wood bookshelves overflowing with books, random sheets of parchment and potions bottles were propped against every stone wall. Snape's large desk was crammed against the wall opposite the fireplace, and on the space behind it a large painting of two intertwining serpents hung. All the chairs in the room were made from black leather, and a large, cast-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, each candleholder resembling a snake's body. Harry noticed that wherever there seemed to be a spare bit of space, even cluttered to the sides of the hearth, potions bottles would be sitting. Three dark, intricately carved wooden doors in the wall near the fireplace lead off to who knew where. The place smelled of sandalwood and other different herbs and spices.

Snape was watching him closely. Harry squirmed in his chair, very uncomfortable under the man's penetrating stare.

"I am sorry about your relatives, Potter," he said. Harry sighed.

"Thank you, but it's really nothing."

"It's nothing, is it? So it doesn't bother you in the least that your mother's sister and her family are deceased?"

"It bothers me that more innocent people are dead because of me," Harry blurted. "But as far as the Dursley's being gone forever, I'm not going to shed a tear."

Snape's eyes glittered strangely. "And why is that? Why are you not sad about the fact that the people you have lived with for fifteen years are gone?"

"Why does it matter so much to you?" Harry asked angrily. He gripped the armrests on his chair quite tightly. "Why do you suddenly care?"

Snape brushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes. He got up from his chair and walked out from behind his desk to pause once more at the fireplace. He felt like deducting points, but now was not the time.

"I care because this is the first assault the Dark Lord has made since he has come back to power," he answered. "And it was made on your family. Which, in turn, reflects upon you."

Harry was bewildered. "Me? But..."

Snape pulled up another chair and sat down opposite Harry. The potions master hated himself for getting this in-depth with the boy, but it needed to be done. Plus, he actually did care somewhat about his well-being. Harry had no idea how much danger he was in. (And when did he start calling him Harry in his thoughts?)

He looked at the boy and was surprised when a sneer didn't automatically plaster itself on his own face. He recalled himself raging at Dumbledore about Potter one night in the Headmaster's office and couldn't believe that the subject of that argument was sitting before him in his own private living area. Potter looked utterly abashed at the man's apparent benevolence. Snape eyed him somberly.

"Potter, did you love your relatives?" Blunt, but it was late and he didn't feel like beating around the bush. Goddamn this councilor bullshit.

"What?"

"Please just answer my question."

Harry looked at him as though he would rather face a Chimaera than talk to him about this. He shook his head in disbelief, and then glanced down at the floor.

"No. I didn't love them."

"You hated them?"

"I didn't hate my aunt," Harry answered quietly. "I hated my uncle and my cousin, but I didn't hate my aunt. Because...because she was my mum's sister and...she wasn't as..."

Snape knew what he meant.

"Are you sad that your aunt is dead, then?"

Harry looked up at him. "Sort of. I didn't hate her but I didn't love her either. If it had of been just she and I living together, things might not have been so bad."

Snape had him. Potter knew it, too. His face flushed and he glared at the potions master.

"So you admit things were bad there?" His eyes glittered.

Harry didn't answer the question.

"Your uncle beat you." It was a statement.

Harry gasped and met Snape's eyes. Snape saw fear there, denial, and then acceptance, all mingled with anger. He closed his own eyes as Harry answered him with silence. This was bad. The young wizard was trembling now.

"And this began over the past year?"

"He didn't beat me."

"Potter...those bruises were not from innocent accidents during the summer."

"He didn't beat me!"

_"And you didn't fall down the stairs!"_ Snape was becoming a little angry. "I can assume, probably quite correctly, that Pomphrey knows what she's talking about when she assesses someone's injuries. The said injuries you had on your flesh were not from falling down stairs, Potter. Some bruises looked many weeks old and were in lovely varying states of colours. You also have scars from past welt marks on your back, too, which I daresay were not inflicted by taking a tumble. Now, if you wish to challenge Pomphrey's Healing intelligence, then be my guest. Or if you imagine you can think up a better story for me, I will hear it. I pray it will be better than the rosebush-planting scenario you fed McGonagall with last month."

"You...you..." Potter stammered, looking at him in furious bafflement. Snape sat, his arms crossed over his chest, his onyx eyes cold and challenging. He could tell Harry was clearly at the end of his tether. And Potter knew that he knew it, too.

Harry bit his bottom lip, defeated. He crossly stared at Snape's right knee for some time, apparently in thought, and drew a shuddering breath. After some more quiet length, he answered softly, "All right. It began...it began when I was three."

Snape's jaw dropped in spite of himself. _"Three years old?"_

Another nod.

"Then you admit that you lied to the Order all summer?"

"I'm sorry."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "Potter, you don't need to apologize. This isn't your fault."

"Yes - "Harry cut himself off and took to glaring at Snape. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Then tell me about your arms."

"I don't want to talk about that, either!"

"You cut a couple of hours ago, didn't you? How long have you been hurting yourself?"

"Please stop it."

"Have you been doing it since the summer? Or has it being going on earlier than that?"

Harry covered his ears with his hands.

"Answer me."

_"STOP!"_

Potter's eyes were filled with livid tears. Snape had hit a nerve and he knew it. He also knew that if he didn't cool down, he would lose Harry. So he took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the young man's.

"I am not your enemy, Harry," he said with forced calm.

"You're the head of Slytherin."

"Green is not your enemy, either. I'm not here to try to hurt you with unpleasant details about your past. Look around you. You're in my own living area, a sacred place to me that I've managed to keep every student out of since I became potions master of this school. It is also early morning, and instead of telling you to bugger off so I can sleep, I'm here with you, am I not?"

Harry looked at him apprehensively. "How come? Did Dumbledore make you do this?"

Snape sighed. "Yes and no, Potter. It gets complicated, but I always had the option to abandon looking out for you altogether. I daresay I've been doing a horrible job."

Harry remained silent, brooding. Snape held out his hand.

"Give me your arm," he said quietly. Potter hesitated suspiciously, and then complied.

Trying to ignore Harry's reluctance, Severus rolled back the sleeve of his robe gently and flinched at what he saw, suppressing a gasp. These marks were deeper than the ones he'd seen back in September. Alarmingly deeper. He pushed the sleeve up higher and the ugly, fiery red cuts continued up the boy's flesh, disappearing under the sleeve of the white shirt he wore underneath his uniform. Snape exhaled loudly through his nose and fished a small bottle of white potion out of a pocket.

Potter was shaking. Severus looked at him, but Harry's eyes were closed and his face had gone a ghostly white colour.

"Nobody was supposed to find out," the young wizard murmured brokenly. "Least of all someone like you."

"Oh? And why not someone like me?"

"You hate me. Why would I want you to know?"

Severus shook his head and uncapped the bottle, digging his fingers into the slightly thick mixture and slowly smoothing it onto Harry's scorched flesh, earning him a small twitch and a hiss of pain.

"This may come as a shock, Potter, but I don't hate you. I don't terribly _like_ you, but I don't hate you."

"Hard to believe."

"I suppose we just piss each other off naturally," Snape replied, sneering at the boy. "But if we're going to have to be working together in the near future, I daresay there are some unpleasant details we'll both have to get over."

Harry didn't reply. He knew now that Snape was correct.

Harry suddenly gasped at the coldness of the potion as it set in and opened his eyes.

"What is it?"

"The Salve of Healing," Snape replied, being careful not to rub too hard in case it hurt him even more. The cuts were still fresh and bleeding. "It takes two months to make and only produces a small amount, so it's always in high demand with Pomphrey."

"You make all her potions?"

"Of course, Potter," Snape replied, grateful that the heated conversation between the two had evaporated. "Much quicker than ordering it from Diagon Alley." He finished rubbing the salve into Harry's arm and gently rolled his sleeve back down.

"Can I see the other?"

Harry grudgingly extended the other arm and Snape was greeted with more wounds. He wondered how much pain Harry had been going through to make him do something like this...these cuts were even worse. His brow furrowed as he worked the cold potion into the surprisingly strong arms and felt Harry suddenly tense.

A horrible wave of white-hot searing pain abruptly ripped through Harry's scar and he clapped his free hand to his forehead, hissing loudly. "Fuck."

Snape's onyx eyes were mingled with amusement at his choice of words and an emotion almost like fear. "So he knows, then. Here - " He summoned a bottle of red potion off his desk and held it up to Harry's mouth. - "Take one small sip of this...it will help with the headache." _I can't believe I'm doing this..._

Harry did. He was breathing heavily and he winced several times as more pain erupted in his head. "I hate this."

"I know."

Harry finished with the potion and shuddered slightly, then placed the bottle on the floor near his feet. "So if you don't hate me, why do you always treat me like shit during potions class?"

Snape grunted. "You can think what you like of me, Potter, but I have a reputation to keep in this school. I'm the surely, dark, sadistic, foreboding asshole that lurks the dungeons and I simply cannot allow any decency I might have inside me shine through for the school to gossip away about. I would be ruined. That doesn't mean that I'm never genuinely irritated during class, however...I almost always am. Especially yours."

The boy rolled his sleeve down once Snape had finished and looked at the older man strangely. His emerald eyes were filled with exhaustion and overload and Snape suddenly felt the weight of the time pressing in on him as well.

"You would like to be getting get back, I presume."

"Not really," Harry admitted, standing anyway and tucking his book once more under his arm. "I can't..."

Snape tutted. "You most certainly can. The invitation I extended earlier was not meant to last all through the night."

"No, it's something else..." Harry said. "Never mind. I'll be going then." The young man walked quickly over to the door and paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Thanks for the salve, Professor."

Snape nodded curtly and watched the young wizard go, remaining sitting there for some time afterwards.

---

Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, his feelings of dread growing with every step. He didn't know what had just passed between himself and his potions master, but it was certainly not the usual feelings of utmost hatred that they usually shared. They had managed to scrape a civil conversation for the first time really since he'd come to Hogwarts...which deserved a spot in the trophy room as far as he was concerned. He was surprised that Snape had said what he'd said and acted the way he acted; he had seemed so genuinely caring and interested in what Harry had had to say...which made him wonder if the man was pretending. Harry shook his head and tried to rid himself of his suspicions. Surely the potions master was capable of _somewhat_ possessing a good side, right?

Hah.

He could still feel the cold potion that the man had massaged into his arms and he blushed again as the knowledge once more overtook him that Snape knew.

Nobody was supposed to find out. Snape had apparently cared and said that he wasn't there to hurt him. Harry didn't know if he believed that.

He was mortified, nonetheless.

He desperately hadn't wanted anyone to find out about what exactly had been going on at number four, Privet Drive, but the night's events had taken a turn for the worse and now his most hated teacher knew his deepest, darkest secrets. He hadn't even told Ron and Hermione...

At the thought of Ron, Harry snorted with both anger and pain and stalked down the corridor towards the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was sleeping soundly in her frame. Harry coughed loudly to let her know he was there and she jerked awake with a small "Oh!" and looked down her nose at him crossly.

"Interrupt my sleep, you nasty little- "

"Newt Scamander," Harry said impatiently. The fat Lady sniffed and swung open to let him in.

There was no way he was going up to the dorm. It was so early in the morning, but he decided he couldn't be that close to Ron after what had just happened between them. He stared at the dying embers in the fireplace and curled himself into one of the armchairs, his slightly burned book falling to the floor as he slept.

-------

"Um...Harry? Harry Potter?"

"Ughnnn...?"

"I'm sorry, but you probably should be getting up. First class begins in fifteen minutes."

Harry opened his eyes. A timid looking second year girl with auburn hair was looking at him. Harry squinted against the pale light shining on his face through the window from the cloudy sky outside. A particularly nasty migraine throbbed at the base of his skull and began creeping up towards his temples and Harry's brow furrowed in discomfort.

"I'm really sorry for waking you," the girl said again, looking sincerely apologetic. "But..."

"No," Harry mumbled, his entire body stiff and aching from spending the night in a chair. His eyes were blurred with sleep and he shifted painfully. "It's all right...thank you..."

"No problem," the girl smiled, backing away so he could stand up. Harry swayed slightly and she reached out suddenly to steady him.

"Whoa," she said, looking at him closely. "Careful now. Blimey...no offense, but you look like you could use some more sleep. In a bed."

Harry thought he mumbled something, but he couldn't remember really what it was. The girl shook her head sadly and extended her hand.

"Natalie McDonald," she said kindly, introducing herself. "I know who you are, of course."

"Hi," Harry said, adjusting his robes, which had gotten caught underneath his arm. He bent over and picked up his book and yawned tiredly. "Sorry about this." He shook her hand and attempted a smile.

"No biggie," Natalie answered, grinning again. "Just...you know...people kept walking by you down to breakfast and no one was waking you up...thought I'd help...well, take it easy, then."

And with that, Natalie was off out the portrait hole with a giggling group of second year girls.

Harry's world was spinning around him. He checked the time on the old grandfather clock near the door and realized he'd only gotten three hours of sleep. He felt worse than he had before he'd dozed off. Snape would be a monster during the afternoon potions class.

Transfiguration would have to wait.

Harry dragged himself up the stairs to his dorm room where Seamus, Dean, and Ron were still changing. They broke off their conversation abruptly and simply stared as an exhausted Harry entered the room wordlessly, crawled into bed, and dropped into a deep sleep once his head hit the pillow.

"Harry?" Seamus called uncertainly. The black-haired boy didn't move.

"Wow, he's really out," Dean commented. "Wonder where he was last night?"

"He's going to miss Transfiguration, at any rate," Seamus said enviously. He fastened the clasps on his robes and grabbed a few books off his bed. "Coming, Dean?"

He and Dean left the dorm room, waving goodbye to Ron, yelling back that they'd see him in class. Ron wasn't paying attention though, he was busy staring at the charred book Harry had beside him on his bed.

Ron waited for the door to swing closed before he walked quietly over and plucked the book out from amongst the folds of white sheets. Harry looked like he was dead, he was sleeping so deeply. Ron couldn't help wondering where the hell he'd been the previous night...he'd been gone for hours. He reached down again and carefully removed Harry's glasses, placing them on the table beside his bed, taking himself by surprise at what he was doing.

"One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi," Ron whispered aloud, reading the cover. He recalled Harry saying that he'd forgotten the book back at the Dursley's...but why was it all burned if it had been there? He thought for a moment and shook his head, then left for class.

---

Transfiguration was a whispering mass of students. Professor McGonagall hadn't arrived yet, unusual for one such as herself.

He couldn't understand why Hermione was crying.

"What is it?"

"Oh Ron..." she said, fishing around in her bag and pulling out a copy of The Daily Prophet. "It's all over the place..."

**YOU-KNOW-WHO STRIKES AT LAST - HARRY POTTER'S RELATIONS FOUND DEAD AT HOME**

_**Five Death Eaters captured after the murder of three Muggles in western Surrey**_

Ron stared at the front page, horrified.

---

Dumbledore was frustrated. "I told every Ministry worker on the scene to tell nobody of any of this! They gave me their word!"

"Do you really think their heads of Department would honestly allow them to answer a call without knowing what it was about?" Minerva sat in his office with a mug of tea. She looked very worried indeed. "I knew it would be in the morning issue the moment they turned up. How could it not be? The story is too big to ignore."

Dumbledore ran his hands over his face. "I know. I tried feebly to keep it from the Prophet...however, they _promised_ me, Minerva. That is the part that angers me most."

McGonagall observed him sadly, watching the old wizard pace his office in annoyance. He stopped suddenly and sighed.

"Right. I must go have a word with Fudge. Minerva...I shouldn't be gone long."

Professor McGonagall gave a small start at the time, and waited for Dumbledore to Floo out of his office before she followed suit to her classroom.

-------


	16. Twisted Minds

Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

Chapter 16: Twisted Minds

It was midday, but the room was dark.

A man stood on a moth-eaten rug in front of a roaring fire, hunched over, sweating and shaking in fright, silhouetted black against the flames. He couldn't help it at all, he'd tried to remain collected, but the icy feeling that had spread to every corner of his body inflicted upon him an emotion worse than absolute terror. He whimpered once and bit his lip to quiet himself, in awe nonetheless of the emotions his master could inflict on a person by simply being present.

A high, raspy voice met his ears like nails on slate. It was all he could do not to shudder involuntarily. "Five have been taken?"

The fire crackled and a large serpent looked up, its black eyes reflecting the light, and gave a slow hiss from where it was curled on the hearth.

"Y-yes, my Lord...Dolohov, Avery, Crabbe, Rodolphus and Flint. They are g-gone, my Lord...to Azkaban..."

He was driven to his knees, sobbing quietly, as the tall, hooded and midnight-swathed pillar of evil drew nearer to him in the suddenly claustrophobic room. A heavy feeling descended upon his shoulders like an immense weight and he dared for his life not look up.

"Azkaban..." the high voice declared furiously. "No matter. Azkaban will soon be under my control. Releasing them will be swift and sure."

"Y-yes, my Lord...the capture could not be helped. The whole p-place was swarming w-with Aurors...they were surrounded."

"Be quiet, Rookwood!" hissed the Dark Lord. "I grow weary of your malcontent...your weakness. One who serves me is not weak; do you understand? Or shall I teach you?" Livid red eyes glowered at him from the shadows.

"No, my Lord! _Please_...you are right...I am sorry..."

Voldemort sneered. "Part of our plan is taken care of, then. The boy is a little less safe from us. And when Lucius reports to me with more information, I can arrange for the rest to take place. And this time it will go through properly, Rookwood. I am growing impatient of constantly failing. The Prophecy was a great disappointment, as I taught you all in June."

Voldemort turned away slowly and almost glided over to the window, its old glass flawed in an oval shape in an upper corner, to look silently out over the grounds three stories below, bathed in cloudy light. He laughed then, a high, cold laugh that shattered whatever relief Rookwood had been feeling and sent more daggers down his spine, turning the room to ice, freezing everything around him at the sound...he wanted to vomit...

"So the filthy Muggles are dead and the Ministry is swarming, the Wizarding Community in panic," Voldemort hissed almost pleasurably, the sound grating on the man. "And now poor Harry Potter has no family..." he turned and faced Rookwood, his red eyes glowing. "No..._protection."_

Rookwood didn't know if contradicting the Lord of Darkness was a wise move, so he tried to make himself sound as though he was merely suggesting. "Harry Potter is protected while at Hogwarts, is he not, my Lord? Under the eye of Albus - "

_"Are you suggesting that he holds the greater power?_ Albus Dumbledore is a weak-minded fool!" Voldemort spat angrily, and the floor trembled with it while bits of plaster shook from the ceiling and fell like snow. Behind Rookwood, the serpent hissed loudly.

"N-never, my Lord! I would never do such a thing!"

"I do not take kindly to opposition," Voldemort whispered, and pointed his wand at the trembling man. _"Crucio!"_

He watched with a kind of sick pleasure as the Death Eater at his feet screamed in sheer agony and writhed on the ancient rug like a filthy worm. His eyes were rolling in their sockets and his dry tongue was lashing around in his mouth as he emitted scream after scream. Sweat poured down his face, his skin turned white, his hands scratched at the wooden floor and left trails of blood behind as his nails were torn from his flesh. Voldemort marveled at the spectacular display of anguish before him, awed by its splendor, entranced as blood flowed from Rookwood's nose as the man hit it off the floor in his attempt to roll over, bawling in sheer pain...death would be such a welcome release...

Voldemort laughed at the man and lifted the curse. Rookwood stopped struggling with himself and lay, panting profusely, bleeding, and sobbing in pain.

"There are some things in which that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore has overlooked, and I will see to it that they are taken advantage of, Rookwood." The Dark Lord stopped then and returned to his armchair, fingering his wand almost lovingly, his face smoothly blending into a transition between shadow and light as the fire's glow washed over it in an almost sickening beauty. Rookwood wrenched his gaze away, horrified, and remained on the floor in front of Voldemort, breathing haggardly.

"Harry Potter's mind is weak," the Dark Lord hissed, closing his smoldering eyes. "I can feel it. He is torn between love and hate...and he will choose hate. I know this; I can sense his anger. It pulses through him now. He fails to notice its magnificence, Rookwood."

Rookwood nodded, at loss for words. "Yes, my Lord."

"He is dreaming," Voldemort said almost to himself, his voice becoming more terrible now. "His memories...are chaotic...and they haunt him mercilessly. He is a servant of fear and spite, anger and hatred, pain and terror. He is a servant of darkness, darkness from which there will be no escape. He even wishes for it now. He turns from the light...I am seeing it now...even in the midst of friends he shrinks away."

"What are your plans, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord opened his eyes and turned Rookwood's stomach. "You shall see soon, my Death Eater. When all is in place I will tell...and by then it will be too late for him. He will be mine. And perhaps if we are lucky, we will succeed in luring another into our trap as well.

xxxxxxx

_Petunia was staring at him, horrified, her hands clutching at her left eye. "Go...go, you idiot boy...what are you doing, standing still? Get away!"_

_"What happened?" Frantic fear struck him. He knew what had happened._

_"Shut up, you stupid little - "_

_"Did he hit you again?"_

_Footsteps boomed across the living room and Petunia frantically pushed the boy into the hall near the stairs, hissing. "Go!" Her eyes were wide and terrified and she trembled as she tried to walk, her own fear delaying her._

_Harry couldn't. He was torn between love and hate, torn between running and helping, although he knew he could do very little in the end to prevent the blow that was inevitably coming._

_Vernon had been drinking again. He'd lately been doing that to get over his fear and paranoia of the Order, who had threatened to arrive in Privet Drive if they got wind of anything bad happening to his nephew._

_The house was warm and stuffy and the two figures in the entranceway fought for breath as the walls closed in around them. Laughter from upstairs crept eerily down to the floor below as Dudley watched his favourite programme on TV, not a care in the world...oblivious to the reckless hate and terror below him._

_A crash from the next room and loud swearing. Petunia's frightened brown eyes meeting green ones. "Run, Harry."_

_"No," Harry replied. "You don't deserve any of this. Go upstairs."_

_"Fool!" his aunt spat, climbing a few and staring back at him for a moment before running up the rest as fast as her heels could allow her. All the while Harry sucked in air laboriously, his throat constricting, knowing that his uncle had to vent his anger out on someone, and it might as well be Harry. _

_He deserved the pain. He deserved everything he got._

_Vernon slowly trudged into the hall, his small eyes watery and unfocused, his breath reeking of alcohol. Harry's eyes took on a strange glint as he watched, shaking, while his uncle growled and spat on the floor._

_"Filth," he hissed drunkenly. "Where is Petunia?"_

_Harry's legs had turned to lead. Horrified, he couldn't move, even when trying. "She's out," he lied, desperate to keep Vernon's temper to a minimum. "She went with Dudley to the grocers."_

_Vernon snorted. "You little fucking maggot," he spat, his breathing becoming very quick. Harry's forehead wrinkled in fear. "You worthless son of a bitch...I'll kill you."_

_Vernon was coming for him now. Harry couldn't move. He had no time to._

_He was grabbed roughly and smashed against the door. One of the little panes of glass in the window was knocked out again and fell to the floor where it shattered at Harry's feet. Vernon howled and shoved his nephew against the door once more, the boy's head smacking off the wood again and again until stars were swimming in the emerald eyes and a migraine of hurt exploded at the back of his skull. Harry's breathing was shallow, and he winced in terrible pain, as the repetitive blows stabbed all around him like an inferno. He wouldn't cry out, however. He bit his lip yet again and drew blood, his fingernails scratching frantically at the surface of the door, desperate to hold onto something...anything... _

_"All my failures," Vernon bawled, his red, beefy face very close to Harry's. "Are because of you. You are the downfall of this family. I hope you're happy, you freak, of what you have caused us!" _

_The sudden trepidation he felt for his uncle was horrible. He cowered before the man who was holding him so painfully against the front door of number four, desperately wishing that something - anything - would save him from what was to come._

_Harry was thrown onto the hardwood floor then, and more searing pain erupted across his back as a foot collided with his flesh, bringing a flood of tears to his eyes. Harry curled up and sobbed quietly into the floor as his uncle beat him, trying to get at every bit of his nephew as he could; relentless, furious, stabbing, angry, seething, crying, careless, hissing, sparing the black-haired boy nothing. Blood was on the polished surface of the wood, so much blood now. And come tomorrow, he himself would be scrubbing it off while his aunt would yell at him over his shoulder and Dudley would come in with his gang of friends, all jeering, all staring, all knowing what had taken place but saying nothing._

_Because he was nothing. It was what he deserved, after all. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the rest._

xxxxxxx

The Boy-Who-Lived woke up.

Harry was aching inside. His head hurt from too much sleep and he moaned into the air and tried to open his eyes. Everywhere was sore; the pain was terrible, like knives, like needles...he focused on breathing instead, trying to rid his mind of the agony that was coursing through him. His very veins were throbbing with pain, his heart was crying, his eyes leaking tears out through the closed lids...

"Harry...?"

Harry gave a small jerk of surprise and his eyes snapped open in alarm, fearing the worst. The dormitory room was filled with golden light from the sunset outside, beautiful in its evanescence, but at the moment very unwelcome. Harry desperately wanted darkness, shadow; anything to keep him from the searing aches of looking upon light. He hurt too much.

His throat was red hot and burning, and he found that he could not speak. His forehead and face was burning as well. His limbs felt sore and he shivered involuntarily.

"Harry, are you awake? Are you OK?"

Harry fixed his attention on the speaker. A girl. Red hair. Ginny.

Harry cleared his throat and attempted to sit up, failing miserably. He groped for his glasses instead and slid them into place, and his world came into clear focus.

"Hi," he said, yawning tensely, trying to sound normal. "Er...shouldn't you be in class?"

Ginny gazed worriedly at him and swept a few stray locks of hair off his forehead tenderly. Her hand was once more blissfully cool. "Harry...it's just after six o'clock. You slept all day. Everyone's really worried about you...Ron was up here checking on you about half an hour ago, but he's gone down to the kitchens with Hermione."

Harry's sudden emotion overtook him and he once more sunk his teeth into his lip and attempted to hide his surprise. "Ron was here?"

Ginny smiled sadly. "Yes, Harry. He was as worried as we were."

Harry snarled and automatically dismissed what she'd said. Ron didn't care; he already knew that. This was all bullshit. Lies. Harry exhaled shakily, trying to hide his anger.

"They're bringing you back something," the redhead continued softly, tentatively running her fingers through Harry's hair in an attempt to comfort him. "You must be hungry."

"I'm not."

Ginny looked slightly put out. "Oh...well then...it'll be here at least, if you want it."

Harry looked up at her. She was looking very attractive, sitting cross-legged on his bed beside him, wearing her Weird Sisters t-shirt again. She wasn't pretty in a Cho way with perfect tresses and makeup, but in a very...in a very comfortable, soft way. It was Ginny, red crazy hair and all. He didn't know how to describe it.

Harry suddenly felt very peculiar and his stomach complained as though threatening to make him vomit. He groaned painfully and took a deep breath, sitting up. His vision swam and he fixed his eyes onto Ginny's to keep from falling over.

"Harry...you're not well." Ginny closed the heavy curtains on the windows with a wave of her wand as the sun's rays suddenly spilled onto her face, casting the room into temporary darkness before the candles and torches lit themselves. "Do you need Madame Pomphrey?"

"No."

"Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"Yes."

"Would you like a sleeping draught? Oh wait, no, you've slept over nine hours..."

Harry shook his head. "Ginny...I'm fine. Really. Cut it out."

Ginny's brown eyes hardened. "You always say that," she pointed out testily. "You always deny your troubles for the sake of other people. Harry, I can tell if someone is sick, and by the look of you I'd say you are."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, glaring at her.

Ginny exhaled loudly. "Doesn't mean I think you look like rubbish," she added, rolling her eyes at his stubbornness. "I just meant..."

"You meant what?"

The two said nothing; simply stared at one another for a little while, breathing quietly.

"I...I talked to Hermione today," the girl said quietly after a while, looking at Harry almost shyly. "I'm sorry...I'm really sorry I put on such a fucking spectacle in the corridor...I just thought..."

Harry found it interesting that Ginny would say something like that when really, there had been no evidence of any sort of relationship other than mere friendship between the two. He couldn't help but smile a little at a slightly taken-aback Ginny, who blushed and shook her head.

"Oh shut up," she muttered at herself, brushing red hair out of her eyes. Harry's anger ebbed away and he looked at her amusedly.

"No need to apologize..."

"Yes there is."

"No. It's all right, Ginny. Really."

"Harry, it's...it's...well, I...I just really...oh god, I feel like such a nob."

Ginny made to get up, but Harry grabbed her hand. She looked at him, a little surprised, and sank back down again.

Harry didn't know what he was doing until he was actually doing it. He had reached out and his other hand was cupping Ginny's freckled, fair face and her brown eyes were gazing into his, filled with a sort of longing and nervousness mingled into one; locking them both into one long, deep gaze. Emerald green eyes penetrated chocolate brown ones and he was entranced, simply staring, unaware of the time that had slipped by as his hand moved from her jawline to sweep a few locks of hair behind her ear. Harry's heart hammered in his chest. Ginny's skin was light, flecked with a generous dose of freckles, impossible to count, even though he tried.

"I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions is all," Ginny whispered. "I mean, I know you have a thing for Cho and I guess I'll just have to - "

Harry smiled and tilted her head up a little by her chin, moving closer to her while she closed her eyes, breaking off her sentence. Her red lips were centimetres from his...

The dormitory door banged open. "Hey Harry...are you awake? We brought food!"

Harry and Ginny were startled out of their moment and looked around sharply at Ron and Hermione, who had burst in and were carrying baskets. The two stopped short and exchanged quick glances with each other before Hermione snorted and shrugged off her robes, throwing them onto Ron's four-poster in a heap.

"When did Harry wake up, Ginny?"

"Um...about...maybe ten minutes ago?" Ginny answered, her voice innocent, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly. Hermione nodded.

"Good...we were afraid he'd slipped into a bloody coma! Oh, Harry...how are you feeling?" She sat on the other side of his bed and peered at him closely, resembling Madame Pomphrey.

"I'm all right," Harry said, accepting the piece of warm bread Hermione gave him.

"Hmmm," Hermione hummed, unconvinced. " I think you should see Madame Pomphrey before the night's over, Harry, just in case. I'll be surprised if you sleep tonight, the way you slept today...Professor Snape was right pissed off when you didn't show up for Potions."

"Then again," Ginny added, grinning, her eyes bright. "He was acting like a mad Hippogriff all day anyway."

Harry ripped a small portion of bread off the slice and chewed gratefully on it as everyone stared at him. His eyes flickered to Ron, who was standing near his own bed, looking very uncomfortable. Hermione noticed the tension and cleared her throat loudly, looking pointedly at Ginny.

"Ginny...why don't you and I go down to the common room and...play Gobstones?"

Ginny looked at Hermione as though she were mad, but was dragged off Harry's bed as Hermione grabbed her hand and led her to the door.

"Eat up, Harry," she called over her shoulder. "And let me know if you feel better later, all right?"

As the two girls left the dorm room, Ginny could be heard saying, "But you don't play Gobstones..."

There was silence. Harry pushed off his covers and sat, cross-legged as Ginny had done, on his pillows; still chewing on the bread. It was very good, and his stomach rumbled in hunger as he chewed responsively. _Shut up, I'm feeding you..._

Ron looked at Harry. Harry slowly met the redhead's eyes and felt his stomach suddenly clench. He would have to kill Hermione later for leaving him on his own with Ron...after all, Ron hated him...

The Weasley drew a shaky breath. "Harry," he said as though he'd rehearsed it a million times. "I'm...I'm really sorry for...for being such a git. It's just...sometimes I get carried away and I can't stop myself, and..."

"So that makes it all OK, then does it?" Harry replied sharply, staring him in the eye. Ron flopped down onto his own bed and sighed.

"No, Harry, it doesn't. I don't know what I was thinking when I said that...obviously there's things you aren't telling me for me to think that you lead a perfect life...how could I have been so stupid...the shit you've had to go through..." he looked up and Harry saw tears pooling in the redhead's eyes. He dropped the remaining bit of bread back into the basket where it lay, forgotten, and swallowed the bit painfully he had in his mouth. "I've been really lonely without having you around, Harry," he confessed. "I was your best mate and I blew it and I'm sorry...I really am sorry...I talked with Hermione a lot over the past day and she made me feel so ashamed of myself. God, I'm a git. I don't know why I ever thought you and Hermione were sneaking around, that was..."

"Pretty dumb?" Harry finished for him. Ron laughed feebly and nodded.

"Yeah. I know you'd never do anything like that to me."

Harry tried to get around that dry, swollen thing in his mouth that was called a tongue. "Ron...you hate me. You made it clear...you said I could get away with anything because I have..." He self-conciously touched his scar.

Ron looked at him, incredulous. "Harry...I don't hate you! I could never hate you! Why do you say that, mate? I know I was harsh when I went mad on you, but Harry...I...I was being an idiot. I didn't know what the bleeding arse I was talking about. I'm so sorry...I really don't want you to be alone because I know it's the last thing you need right now. I went and ditched you because I was jealous and...and I know...I'm just...oh Harry..." He pulled a rolled up newspaper out of a pocket and threw it on Harry's bed. The brutal headline screamed up at Harry and he stared, his stomach disappearing, at the article.

"They put it in the bloody Daily Prophet?" he asked aloud in disbelief. "Why the hell would they put it in the..."

Ron sat on Harry's bed. "So the Dursley's are dead?"

Harry's eyes were filled with two different emotions (which were currently at war with each other), and didn't answer Ron's question. He just stared at the moving picture of his Aunt and Uncle's house; smoke streaming lazily out of the broken windows, Auror's swarming the scorched property, Muggles having memory modifications, a haggard-looking Professor McGonagall arguing heatedly with a Daily Prophet reporter.

"Harry...where were you last night?"

Silence.

Ron exhaled loudly through his nose and his discomfort grew. "I'm sorry I showed you that...here..." He went to remove the paper, but Harry brushed him away.  
  
"I can't believe they did that," Harry said. "Why does every little bleeding thing have to be announced like this?"

Ron grimaced. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care," Harry replied. "So they're dead. It's horrible, yes, but they're dead. I don't have to go back there ever again." He closed his eyes almost in relief and begun to whisper to himself as though Ron wasn't there. "I don't have to go back...ever again...it's OK, you don't have to go back...you're safe from - "

Ron felt a wave of cold goosebumps wash over him. "Harry...are you sure you're OK?"

Emerald green eyes opened and Harry looked at Ron. "I accept your apology but...I dunno...you're sorry, Ron? You mean it, right?"

"Of course I do."

Harry's scar twinged, but a warm sensation filled his body nonetheless. He was, at the moment, very confused, however. He silently cursed his scar for playing with his mind again, making him drowsy, making him feel sick. "Ron...how can I believe you?" he murmured. "How can I believe that you'll stick with me after this? After what happened in fourth year too? You ditched me when I needed you the most, Ron...how can I know that you're as good as your word?" He looked almost fearfully at the Weasley.

Ron's eyebrows knit together. "Oh bloody hell..." he got up and snatched the paper away from his friend and threw it across the room where it landed haphazardly near the door. "Harry...that's over with. I said I was sorry and I meant it."

Harry nodded. He resisted the urge to throw up and resorted to laying back down again to steady his nausea. A crescendo of dizziness overcame him and he closed his eyes tightly and groaned, trying to get a grip on himself.

He felt the side of the bed sink down a little as Ron sat.

"Your scar?"

"Not just my scar," Harry said quietly. "Lately it's been weird...it's been dodgy...I can't explain what it is..."

"Have you talked to Hermione?"

"It's not Hermione I need to talk to," the black-haired boy replied, opening his eyes. He wasn't about to reveal as to whom he needed to have that conversation with, however. He knew what Ron's reaction would be, and right now he didn't want to hear it.

Ron didn't seem to want to pursue it, either. He sat silently for a moment, thinking. "So we're all right again, then?"

Harry nodded once more and smiled a little before he hissed with pain, clapping his hands to his forehead. "Oh god, Ron...can't someone bloody throw Voldemort a lemon drop and..."

"Do you need Pomphrey?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'll go get Hermione," Ron said, getting up and hurriedly crossing the room to open the door.

Hermione and Ginny fell into the room in a heap of fabric and crazy hair as Ron went to leave, strangled cry's escaping them in their surprise. Ron stood there, flabbergasted, then hoisted Hermione up by her robes.

"Eavesdropping, Miss Granger?"

Hermione glared at him. "No," she said unconvincingly. "We were just..."

"Is Harry OK?" Ginny asked, brushing red hair out of her eyes and standing up shakily to peer around her brother. "My god, he's still not out of bed?"

The trio turned to look at him, surprised when they saw Harry sleeping soundly once more.

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_What am I doing here?_

The dungeon loomed all around him, black as midnight, cold as ice.

Ice. Harry suddenly became aware of the fact that he was freezing. He wrapped his robes tightly around himself.

_It must be late. How the hell did I get here? Am I dreaming?_

Harry pinched himself. No, he definitely wasn't dreaming. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and he found himself just down the corridor from Snape's classroom. Odd.

A strong sense of foreboding seeped into his flesh like a spider. He glanced this way and that, his eyes feeling like they hadn't been used in a good while. He felt...violated. He was scared.

He had absolutely no idea of how he had come to be in the dungeon. He had no memory. No recollection. He took a few tentative steps, not knowing where to go. He was disoriented still, so he merely stood in the stone passageway, unnaturally still, breathing quietly.

He closed his eyes and tried to think. He saw blankness. He remembered Ron apologizing, something about him going to get Hermione...that's where it ended. Everything else was gone.

An echo trickled down the walls, long strides erupting in sharp footsteps growing closer. Harry was elsewhere. His mind was fogged.

"What are you doing!"

The sparse hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. Snape was behind him, a hand gripping the young wizard's shoulder tightly. It hurt. Harry shrugged off the touch and turned around in a daze.

"Sorry Professor...I didn't know I was here."

Snape's eyes filled with an emotion Harry couldn't distinguish. "What are you talking about, Potter? Why are you up wandering...it's almost three in the bloody morning!"

"Is it?" Harry asked, thoroughly surprised. "Oh..."

Snape stooped slightly to look into green eyes. "Are you home, Potter?"

"I didn't know I was here, Professor," Harry repeated. "I'm sorry. I'll be getting back to bed now."

Snape grabbed Harry's wrist and Harry grunted in pain, fully coming back to himself now. "Stop it."

Snape squeezed a little harder on the young man's skin and Harry hissed. "Stop!"

"I want an answer," Snape snarled back. "Your fame will not allow you to get away with breaking rules as far as I am concerned. Get into my office...your answer better be unsurpassable or you'll have absolutely no points by breakfast."

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Sorry it's taken me so long to get another chapter up, guys. Your reviews are **hugely **and greatly appreciated (trust me, I need them).


	17. Near to Death and Witch Kisses

Rated R for swearing, violence and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

Chapter 17: Near to Death and Witch Kisses

The tension was building up at number four, Privet Drive like an awaiting Filibuster Firework.

Severus Snape shook his head angrily and stalked along the corridors and passageways leading from Dumbledore's office down to the dungeons. He was moodier than he would have been at the moment because even his Floo ride had ended in disaster: he'd been so preoccupied with the night's events that he'd fallen victim to his own momentum and had pitched forwards and landed flat on his hooked nose on the hearth. Right in front of Minerva.

She had been wise, however, and didn't say anything.

The mess was almost cleaned up at the Dursley residence, but the Muggles wouldn't stop poking their noses into everything. It was becoming a very large and very annoying problem, and Snape had been called to the home right before dinner to help keep the neighbors at bay, as well as assist with the guard in case the Dark Lord decided to make a reappearance. Snape heavily dismissed that theory, however. He had a feeling the Dark Lord wouldn't show himself for a little while. At least not in public.

Daily Prophet reporters had been absolutely everywhere. If Rita Skeeter had of shown up, everyone trying to protect Potter might as well have dug their graves right then and there. Thankfully, however, she hadn't been in print since the Triwizard Tournament...and the interview with Harry the previous year, of course, but that had been blackmail. It was common knowledge among the Hogwarts staff.

As soon as Snape had arrived at the home through the Floo network, he'd remembered exactly why it was that he'd become a Death Eater in the first place. The sight of Muggles swarming the small street was nauseating and he fought the urge to cast growth spells on each and every one of the perfectly pruned and manicured gardens of Privet Drive. He'd received a warning glare from Minerva, and had taken to sneering murderously at anyone who dared to look him in the eye. Occasionally, Tonks or one of the Weasley's would make the rounds and modify a few memories...but other than that, they'd had no trouble all night except fighting off reporter after reporter who tried to venture too close to the house. Twice he'd hexed a wizard attempting to climb in through a window; he'd even caught someone in a tree. Their audacity pissed him off, more so because they didn't run screaming when he approached. He was so used to that happening, it took him by complete surprise not to even see a cower. A flicker of fear. He hated that sodding newspaper within fifteen minutes of being there; suddenly he'd sooner read _The Quibbler._ The _Prophet_ already had their article on the attack, and nobody could really understand why the hell they kept prodding the issue. One thing was for certain, however: the next time Snape was forced to participate in babysitting pesky journalists, someone would get killed. His temper had flared more than humanly possible that night.

He decided to demand payment next time they made him do something like that.

The corridors were very cold. He shivered in spite of himself and made a mental note to summon a bottle of Firewhisky as soon as he reached the comfort of his quarters. He rounded a corner and took the steep staircase to the dungeon levels, the temperature dropping dramatically with every step, the echoing pangs of dripping water now all around him. His sharp footsteps resounded louder than usual around the stone walls and his paranoia began to eat at him as he descended into the gloom.

_Nobody can Apparate or Disapparate inside the Hogwarts grounds..._

Snape shook himself and ploughed on. He was being bloody ridiculous and he knew it. He knew that Hogwarts was the safest place to be during times like these, but even so, his thoughts sometimes strayed to other places. Places he didn't want to go again, memories he didn't want to re-live, things he didn't want to think about. And the warning Dumbledore had given him privately last June would haunt him when he was alone like this...Snape sighed as the scene played in his head again.

_Dumbledore, wearing midnight-blue robes freckled with golden stars, was sitting, distressed, at his desk, his fingers placed on his temples like a worried Muggle deep in thought. Severus stood on the other side, rigid, his eyes wide and for the first time in years, afraid. On its perch, Fawkes sang softly into the tense room as though trying to comfort its inhabitants, its head cocked straight and alert nonetheless._

"_Harry has given me a thorough account of Voldemort's speech and his actions," the ancient wizard said after an agonizingly long moment of silence, eyeing the potions master fretfully. "I must tell you now, Severus...warn you now...be careful. He is on the lookout for you."_

Snape sighed and shook his head, ridding the memory. He would sooner store all of his past in his Pensieve so he wouldn't constantly be reminded of what he used to be...what had gone on all those years ago...but it was too dangerous. Sometimes memories like that were needed, and if they were out gallivanting around in a stone basin, obviously they would be of no use.

Suddenly the sparse hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a wave of goosebumps washed over him eerily. He stopped walking for a moment and shivered. His eyes roamed the corridor for any signs of movement, but finding none, he gingerly began the trek once more, walking a little faster this time. He could have sworn he felt a presence...

He rounded the last corner, then slowed down and squinted into the dim, almost crying out in surprise. A dark figure stood, unnaturally still and rooted to the spot in the middle of the dungeon corridor, only a little ways away from the door to his quarters. Black-robed. Messy raven hair. Of course.

"What are you doing!"

Snape strode up to the still figure and gripped Potter's shoulder harshly, his impatience overcoming him. He really was sick of this wizard shrugging off the rules as though they were something to be laughed at...and in light of their present situation...

To his sheer surprise, Harry brushed the hand away and turned around ever so slowly, his emerald eyes nowhere near as green as they usually were. At the moment they were clouded and dazed...not his. Not his at all. It unnerved Snape greatly to see Potter looking so...out of his mind.

"Sorry Professor...I didn't know I was here."

Severus blinked. This statement took him aback and for a moment he wondered whether Potter was testing his intelligence, then he was filled with suspicion. He decided to remain oblivious to the boy's apparent game. Besides, he really was very tired.

"What are you talking about, Potter? Why are you up wandering...it's almost three in the bloody morning!"

"Is it?" Harry asked, looking shocked. "Oh..."

Snape bent down a little so he could look into Harry's eyes better. Something wasn't right with the wizard. "Hello? Are you home, Potter?"

"I didn't know I was here, Professor," Harry repeated. "I'm sorry. I'll be getting back to bed now."

Potter turned to leave, but, growling, Severus reached out and grabbed one of Harry's wrists very tightly. Harry let out a grunt of pain and the absence of awareness left his eyes. Maybe Potter had been merely sleepwalking...he didn't know...but right now he was certain that the boy was back as himself again. He knew the cuts were still fresh. Harry looked up at him in pain. "Stop it."

In response, Snape gripped Harry's wrist tighter still. His green eyes were wide and fearful and he hissed. "Stop!"

"I want an answer," Snape snarled back. "Your fame will not allow you to get away with breaking rules as far as I am concerned. Get into my office...your answer better be unsurpassable or you'll have absolutely no points by breakfast."

He violently let go of Harry's arm and gave him a small shove in the direction of the door. Potter didn't say anything, but walked stiffly alongside the potions master, staring fixedly at the ground, breathing heavily. Snape didn't speak either, but Potter's presence scared him shitless. Something was cold. Something was disturbing. Something was horrible. Something was...evil.

And it was radiating from the young wizard beside him.

He shuddered and glanced at the Boy-Who-Lived, stopping at a spot just left of a painting of serpents and muttering a small spell to make the door appear. He quickly wrenched it open and prodded Harry inside, then slipped in behind him and closed it again where it vanished in with the stone.

With a flick of his wrist, he ignited the torches, candles and fireplace and placed his wand back into his pocket tentatively, unsure of if he should keep it out or not. _Merlin's beard, he's a sixth-year student and I'm an ex Death Eater. What can he possibly do? _He fixed his eyes on Potter, who was standing in the middle of the room, staring back at him hatefully.

How dare he look at him that way! Who was the student here? Snape vaguely considered hexing the boy into oblivion, then decided that it probably wouldn't go over too well with Minerva. Instead, the potions master rounded on the boy. _"Well?"_

Potter was unmoved. "Yes,_ sir?"_

Snape's lip curled unpleasantly and he glared murderously enough to make a seventh-year cower. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your impudence!"

Potter said nothing. It infuriated Snape even more. Was this the same young wizard who had sat in this very room the night before, talking so calmly, telling him his deepest secrets? And right now he stood, staring almost uncaringly at his professor. Snape growled and rewarded him with his best I-am-going-to-murder-you glare.

"Have you gone mad, Potter? What are you doing up wandering the dungeons so early in the morning? Are you going to explain, or shall I take more points and call the Headmaster?"

Potter smiled eerily. Snape stood there, his mouth hanging open in shock. He couldn't believe this. Potter, shrugging him off dismissively. Him. Professor Severus Snape. Nobody shrugged off Professor Severus Snape. This was fucking unbelievable...he could feel the beginnings of failure tugging at him, and then he remembered the power he held. Hell, he could give the prat a detention a night for the next fifty years if he wanted to. He bared his teeth and stood nose-to-nose with the boy.

"Another twenty points! I do not have time for your stupid little games, you spoiled, insolent brat! If you hadn't noticed, in light of the present circumstances, students are absolutely _forbidden_ to be out of their dorm rooms after nightfall. Or has that rule, along with all the others, been discarded?"

"I suppose it has," Harry replied scathingly.

Fuck.

"Do you think that your troubles are making you more important than everyone else? What are - "

"Severus, Severus, Severus," Potter said icily, his eyes flickering, backing away a little and clasping his hands behind his back. "Still as arrogant and power-hungry as ever."

Snape's heart suddenly felt like it was being crushed from within his chest and he gasped and looked at the boy in panic. A vice-like grip was building up in the depths of his ribcage and he hissed in pain. "Harry? What...?"

Onyx eyes were terrified. The man clutched at his heart and gasped for air, not taking his eyes off the orbs that were so deeply penetrating him with their black magic. He let out a cry of fury, a cry of betrayal and a strangled cry of horror all mingled into one. And Voldemort laughed. Snape gritted his teeth against it, managing not to scream.

"I have him," the Dark Lord rasped, Harry's lips moving to form the words, red eyes glowing from under the unnecessary round wire-rimmed glasses. "You have failed, Severus."

Snape couldn't breathe. He gaped like a fish out of water and felt his consciousness slowly slipping away from him as blackness began to creep into the edges of his vision. A low rumbling began to sound in his ears.

"Now you know that there is no place safe from me," Voldemort hissed sickly, stepping forwards as Snape fell to his knees in nausea, weakness and pain, his hand in his pocket groping for his wand...desperate... "You are going to pay the price for what you did."

Harry's head was thrown back and a high-pitched laugh escaped him, a laugh so familiar to Severus' ears that he shut his eyes tightly, managing to grasp his wand and pull it out shakily, about to pass out...

Voldemort was ready. _"Expelliarmus!"_

Snape's wand was suddenly wrenched out of his hands and flew off somewhere across the room. Harry's lips were curved into a horrible smile and he stood, regarding intently the man before him.

Severus was dying. He managed a small mumble, a croaking noise, and fully collapsed onto the floor, feebly scratching at his throat as though trying to open it up to the air outside. Voldemort leered and watched as the traitor eventually became very still.

The Lord of Darkness stood, embodied in his greatest enemy, staring down at the Death Eater who had betrayed him fifteen years ago with such hate and disgust that it transformed Harry's usually quiet, calm face into an ugly and terrible mask. His wand was raised...it would work well in the hands of Voldemort; it was basically his, anyway.

"I am going to show you what happens to those who choose to disobey me," Harry's mouth hissed, his feet moving, advancing. "I am going to delay your death long enough to make you feel pain more terrible than you have ever felt in your life. You are bowing before me, Severus...in life you did, and so you will in death."

_Harry...if you're in there...for fuck's sake, please come back out. Please. I am begging you..._

Harry's face contorted with rage. Began to change. Voldemort howled, his crimson eyes opening wide, the slits more pronounced than ever. The walls and ceiling shook and rumbled and bits of stone crumbled and fell to the floor. The chandelier was disturbed and the cast-iron serpents sprang to life, hissing violently, their forked tongues lashing out, the firelight reflected in their black eyeballs.

Suddenly red eyes snapped back to emerald and burned with such ferocity and intense concentration they took on a life of their own. Harry doubled over and gasped, screaming, "NO!" and then looked around him in surprise to find himself on all fours in Snape's living area.

Severus' heart was released from its death hold. His lungs filled with air and he was on all fours, gasping, breathing, coughing and spluttering. His vision swam in front of his eyes and it was all he could do not to retch. With his chest freed from the weight, he collapsed onto his back and swallowed massive amounts of oxygen as though it were the sweetest thing on earth. "Merlin's fucking beard..." he croaked painfully, his hands encircling his neck in defense. "Harry..."

Harry was sobbing into the floor, shaking violently, his scar exploding with pain. "What happened? What happened?"

Severus gritted his teeth. "You were possessed, Harry."

Harry's tear-filled eyes widened. "Merlin...I tried...I tried to tell you so many times, Professor...I tried...but he's gone now...I'm sorry..."

Snape said nothing, just breathed. He closed his eyes and his eyebrows knit together in worry and panic and utmost fury. He coughed some more and waited for the room to stop spinning.

"Be quiet, Potter," he croaked, crawling weakly into an armchair and breathing heavily some more. _Just breathe...breathe..._

"I'm sorry!" Harry pleaded, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, his scar a deep shade of red. The skin around it was pink, as though it were a fresh cut. Snape had the strength to gaze stressfully at him before he closed his eyes and leaned into the leather.

"How did you expel him?" He asked hurriedly, sharply.

Harry wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "I just...I don't know sir. I can't remember anything!" He folded his hands up together in an attempt to stop shaking so badly, but it did nothing. He shuddered wildly and wrapped his arms around himself instead.

"You must have fought somehow."

"I..."

Severus looked at the boy, troubled. "Potter..."

"I know, sir," Harry replied shakily. "Oh gods...You almost died."

The potions master slowly shook his head and brushed a lock of black hair out of his face. "No, Potter, that's not it..."

Harry suddenly pitched forwards and let out a cry of pain, scratching at his forehead with his fingernails until Snape jumped from his chair and grabbed the young wizard's wrists and held him steady. Harry's eyes were watering and he swayed dizzily, his face contorted with anguish. At the same time, the Dark Mark on Snape's arm burned red-hot once more and he clenched his teeth together to keep from betraying his discomfort. He bit his bottom lip and tasted blood.

"Can't I cut it off?" Harry sobbed, rocking back and forth on his knees on the floor, holding his head in his hands and kneading his forehead with his knuckles. "I wouldn't feel this if my scar was gone!"

Snape sat on his own knees across from the boy. "Potter...I need you to answer me truthfully now. Has this ever happened before to you?"

Harry glanced up, looking like he was going to be sick. "Once last month," he answered quietly. "Not as bad as this, though. He had me for about a second and then I passed out...of course, I didn't exactly know what it was at the time, but I guessed - "

"Was anyone with you?"

Harry looked surprised. "Well...yes, Ginny Weasley was. And it was about this time of day, too."

Snape groaned. "Does she know?"

"No," Harry replied at once, hiccupping. "I think she thinks she was hallucinating..."

Severus reached out and tenderly wiped the blood away from Harry's forehead, a trail of which was slowly progressing down towards his eyebrow. Seeing the red on his professor's hand, Harry ran his own hand against his forehead and stared at the liquid, transfixed.

"Possessing you must be very difficult," Snape mused aloud. "The Dark Lord's spirit is too terrible...to evil for one such as yourself."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, dragging both hands across his scar now. It wasn't bleeding badly, and he stopped.

"You are too..." Snape began, not knowing how to word it. He was in shock and his chest was aching badly. "...Too pure, let's say. Too good. The Dark Lord would have physically ripped you apart if he'd been in you any longer...You must have fought him outstandingly."

"It hurts...my head is going to explode..."

"I know."

Harry got a grip on himself. He blinked a couple of times and stared at the floor, silent.

Severus, on the other hand, was barely containing his fear. What had just taken place totally contradicted what he'd thought earlier about Hogwarts; it also proved Dumbledore wrong. Severus closed his aching eyes. But wait...possibly it was only Harry that the Dark Lord could connect with in such a way, seeing as the two were bound together. It was both a comforting and a greatly disturbing thought: Voldemort could harm no one else directly, but then again, Harry was a danger to them all the same. Severus' hands were pressed against his own chest protectively. The pressure was gone, but the pain lingered, and he found it difficult to breathe again. He sharply looked up at Harry and found him to be quite normal, besides the fact that he looked like he would keel over and die any second.

Severus stood up. Harry's eyes followed him and he glared at the man in mistrust. "You're going to tell Dumbledore, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, Potter. This needs to be stopped."_ Who the hell else would I tell? Hagrid?_ _Dobby? Fuck, I hate that House Elf..._

Green eyes narrowed. "What d'you mean _stopped?"_

Snape spread his arms out incredulously. "What do you think? Potter...we can't have you blundering about the school with the threat of being possessed by The Dark Lord hanging over your head! It isn't safe with everyone here! Use some sodding common sense, boy!"

Harry flinched. "Don't call me that."

The potions master's tolerance was dwindling very swiftly. "Oh? And why not?"

"Because..." Potter looked away, his eyes aflame with anger.

Snape sneered. "What, is it a bad memory, Potter? Something you won't talk about? Does it have to do with your dead relatives, by any chance?"

Harry glowered. He stood up too, his hands clenched into fists.

Snape didn't know why he was being this foul towards the boy, especially after what had just taken place...but he couldn't help himself now. His temper was rising and he suddenly found himself wanting the young wizard out of his quarters immediately. His stress was adding to his anger as well, which didn't help matters any whatsoever.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, gnashing his teeth at the man. "Why are you..."

"I said I am going to tell Dumbledore about this," the potions master repeated. "I want you in his office in no less than ten seconds or I will deduct every point Gryffindor has. I cannot allow you to go back to your Tower in this state. If someone was hurt as a result of me doing that, I would be held responsible."

"Why are you acting like..." Harry stammered, his eyes flashing furiously. "Acting like such an ass!"

"It is a Slytherin trait, I'm afraid," Snape shot back, smirking. "And another ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor. In case you haven't noticed, idiot boy, I am the head of that house." He sneered at Harry's outrage. "But look at you, Potter! Angry with me because I'm protecting your housemates! Do you want to go back to Gryffindor Tower and endanger their lives? Or are you too busy thinking about yourself to understand what I am trying to do?" Severus was shouting now as well. "Selfishness is also a Slytherin trait, did you know that? Get a grip, Potter! The Headmaster will be informed of this and if you have a dispute with that, then how unfortunate you are, because I really do not care!" He billowed unsteadily over to his desk, uncorked a flask of dark purple liquid, and took a giant gulp. "And where bloody hell did this argument come from?"

The painting hanging behind Snape's desk gave a dark hiss. Harry looked at it sharply and paused as though pondering something, then met his professor's eyes again.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, his anger leaving him in one swift rush. His shoulders slumped and his fists unclenched. He looked searchingly up into onyx eyes for a moment longer, then walked over to the hearth where he dug his fingers into the pot of shimmering Floo powder.

The serpent on the wall hissed again, a long series of low sounds that sent shivers up Severus' spine. It was a truly amazing language, he decided, and he glanced at Harry as he turned his head to listen to the Parseltongue. Potter looked at the painting intently and his expression became grim as he replied in a succession of intertwining hisses. The snake slithered around its canvas, all the while watching him with its beady eyes.

_What, am I bloody well not here?_ "What is she saying, Potter?"

"I said nothing," Harry replied, chucking the powder into the flames where they leapt up high and turned emerald green. Harry stepped into them, but he didn't feel the pleasant warming sensation that usually came with taking the Floo network. He closed his eyes and muttered, "Dumbledore's office," and with a soft _whoosh_, he was gone.

Snape stood there, staring at the spot where Harry had just been, his eyebrows knit together in an emotion quite similar to shame. He had been terrible. Shaking his head, he attempted to comfort himself with remembering that he was Severus Snape for god's sake, and he was feared and respected as much as he was because he _was_ terrible. He immediately cursed whomever it was that created consciences, because all of a sodding second, his was kicking into overdrive.

He couldn't deny it, he did care about Harry. Of course, he would never ever admit it (even in a life-threatening situation which would include being tortured by...well, that was going a little extreme), but it was true. He had no idea when this new feeling was born in him, but he suddenly felt differently towards the young wizard than he ever had in his six years of teaching him. Snape was just a foul person originally, and he mentally kicked himself for letting his temper get the better of him at a time like this, and with one as disturbed as Harry was. Suddenly apprehensive, he dug is spider-like fingers into the Floo powder and was whisked off to the Headmaster's office.

He wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, he immediately knew, as light blue eyes met his in an expression of utmost horror. No sleep like the night before, and the one before that...

xxxxxxxx

"Well that was a bloody waste of my time!"

Ron sat himself down moodily across from Harry in the Great Hall the next day for breakfast, his cheeks rosy from the cold. Hermione, who was reading _Toilsome Transfiguration And How To Learn It_, rolled her eyes and looked at him amusedly.

"So it went well, then?"

"Don't start," Ron replied, scooping some scrambled eggs onto his plate. He glanced gingerly up at Harry and began stuffing the food hungrily into his mouth.

"What was?" Harry asked tiredly.

Hermione sighed sadly. "A Quidditch meeting," she replied into her book, not meeting his eyes. "Angelina called it yesterday."

Harry groaned and leaned his aching head on a hand. "Let me guess..."

"Exactly," Ron replied tentatively, chewing his mouthful of egg before continuing. "It wasn't a huge meeting or anything so you missed the equivalent of missing one of Binns' classes- "

"Which is also referred to as nothing," Ginny interrupted, sitting beside Harry and rubbing her hands together. "Bugger, it's cold out there..."

"Angelina heart-wrenchingly re-informed us all that she and the other Chasers are only here this time because they'd decided to stay an extra year at Hogwarts to get a few more courses in including a good DADA class," Ron recited in one breath, a bored tone to his voice. "And that next year the new Captain would be picked...and we would have to look after finding new Chasers. She said she was worried because, judging by the turn-out this year for Beater's..."

"Hey!" Ginny snapped, hexing the sugar bowl to throw itself at her brother.

"Not saying you're rubbish, _Ginevra_," Ron said hotly, brushing the sweetener off his robes. Ginny scowled and Ron stuck his tongue out at her. "She gave us a really boring pep-talk. We didn't even get up into the air because the Ravenclaw team got there first with permission from their head of house..."

"Angelina was going bonkers, though," Ginny said quietly, looking at her plate. "She wanted to know where you'd gone and we said you were passed out in the dormitory, sleeping..."

Harry's cheeks reddened. He didn't have the energy to be angry, though, so he sat in silence, absently picking with a fork at the single piece of toast he'd thrown on his plate earlier. He hadn't eaten a bite; he wasn't hungry. He could also tell that the four were waiting for him to explain himself. Well...he couldn't. He was told not to. And quite frankly, he wouldn't have if he'd had the option.

"Oh," Harry grunted finally.

Ron looked slightly surprised, but he said nothing. Ginny sighed quietly and poured herself some coffee, nursing it with a blissful expression on her face, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug.

"However, there were cookies," Ron continued.

"Cookies?"

"Cookies," the redhead replied. "Alicia brought them."

"There's a game on the thirtieth," Ginny said, her eyes closed. "Against Ravenclaw. We have practices every Wednesday after classes and on Sunday's at noon..."

"Up until the game?"

"Up until the game."

Harry suddenly didn't feel like playing Quidditch or practicing for it. Everything was losing its appeal very fast and he smiled in a false show of excitement. "Great."

Ron smiled back brightly and went on the hunt for a plate of ham. Hermione sighed after a few minutes and summoned it with her wand, and she and Ron began arguing amongst themselves again. Harry sat in silence for a while, shutting out the noise around him, staring absent-mindedly at his hands which were placed on the tabletop. _I must not tell lies_ appeared on his skin in thin, white lines and Harry gazed at it until he felt a slight poke on his shoulder.

"I'm not hungry," Ginny said when Harry looked around at her. "D'you want to go somewhere else?"

"Sure," Harry replied, standing up and waving feebly at the still bickering Ron and Hermione.

"You honestly try to purposefully show me up, don't you? Admit it!"

"Oh Ron, stop talking rubbish!"

"Then why do you always have to do everything better than I do? I could have found that plate of ham just as easily on my own, you know!"

Ginny surprised Harry by taking his hand in hers and confidently walking with him out of the Great Hall. Several people stopped and stared as they left, and a good deal of whispering broke out once the two were out of earshot. Ron stared at the door, his mouth hanging open.

Ginny's hand was very warm. Harry relaxed and let himself be led by her, having no idea where they were going, but not really caring. He smiled down at the curly mass of red hair.

"Blunt, don't you think?"

Ginny grinned mischievously up at him, her eyes bright. "Very."

The two emerged out of the massive front doors and out onto the sloping grounds. The sky (Harry hadn't seen it in a while) was gray but it was quite dry out. It was refreshing, the cold air against his face, and he sighed contentedly for the first time in a while.

Ginny silently led Harry down to the shores of the lake and sat on the grass, looking out over the water as the giant squid propelled itself along the surface, its salmon-pink tentacles tinged slightly with blue from the cold. Ginny still hadn't let go of his hand, and Harry found himself hoping that she never would. It was comforting.

Harry plopped himself down beside the youngest Weasley and said nothing. He could have stayed there all day; he was very at ease just being with Ginny and nobody else. It was a nice feeling, certainly welcome, and he smiled faintly as he thought.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, did you know?" Ginny asked him quietly. Harry shook his head.

"Were you planning on going?"

Harry snickered at himself. "I don't know what day it is anymore, Ginny. Is today Sunday or Saturday?"

"Saturday, Harry," Ginny replied, smiling sadly. Her brown eyes roamed over him for a moment and she chewed on the inside of her lip in thought. "Bugger it, Harry...you look bad. Are you all right?"

_No._ "Yes."

Ginny eyed him. "Liar."

Harry sighed. "Ginny...I'm fine. Really. Cut it out." The sound of a distressed flock of crows was cast eerily into the slightly windy air as they were disturbed. Looking around, Harry saw Hagrid emerge from his hut and head into his pumpkin patch.

"That sounds oddly familiar."

Damn. Harry fleetingly remembered saying that exact thing the day before when they were talking in his dormitory -

Harry coughed and withdrew his hand from Ginny's. The girl looked at him questioningly. Harry pretended to be fascinated with the squid.

"You're quiet," Ginny said faintly, gazing out at the inky black water. "You've been very quiet recently."

_Well, you see, this is what's been happening..._

"I can see why," she went on. "With all that's been happening..."

Harry's expression was stony. Ginny took a deep breath, swiping irritably at a few stray bits of red hair that were blowing around her face, and looked up at Harry. "I'm worried about you."

"Who isn't?" Harry replied darkly. "I wish people would just..."

Ginny nodded in understanding and leaned against him, resting the side of her head against his shoulder. Harry resisted for a split second, then was surprised for the second time in twenty minutes as he wrapped an arm around her small shoulders and pulled her closer.

And for a little while the two sat like that, saying nothing, warm against the chill, grateful beyond words for the other's company. Harry closed his eyes and marveled at the fact that he never thought he'd be doing this with anyone...and yet here he was. Mind you, he never thought his life would amount to anything whatsoever before Hagrid had come along when he was eleven. Even still he had those thoughts...he was sure that people like Snape and Dumbledore only wanted to keep him alive just so he could face Lord Voldemort and conquer (hopefully) to save wizard kind. Something out of a Muggle movie. What was embedded into Harry's mind was the knowledge that nobody at all really cared about him...maybe Ron and Hermione did, hell, even Ginny, but not deeply. Not deep enough. Nobody ever did and nobody ever would. It was that fucking Prophecy that was keeping people apt to making sure he woke up each morning. Be a killer or be killed. Face Voldemort and die, and someone else would get him later on. Probably Dumbledore. Face Voldemort and win, and the Dark Lord would be gone that much quicker. Then after that, what was he supposed to do? He couldn't stay at Hogwarts for the rest of his life, and he was confused about what he wanted to do in the future...

Providing he made it that far.

Ginny snuggled into Harry and he recalled his mother sitting in this exact spot when she was his age, just after her OWLs, dipping her feet into the water with her friends while his father and the other Marauders looked on in interest. It had been sunny and warm, and everyone had been happy...save for one person...

Harry shook his head and mentally fought off the prickling feeling in his eyes. To cry now would be brutally agonizing. He was angry with himself about the amount of times he'd cried in the past three months and he wondered how he didn't just disintegrate into the floor. His scar twinged unpleasantly and he sighed in irritation.

"What is it?" Ginny whispered.

"My scar," Harry replied. "Voldemort's never fucking happy."

"I second that," the girl replied softly, and Harry remembered again.

On a whim, he blurted out his question. "Ginny...what was it like, being possessed?"

Ginny gasped in shock and pulled away from him to look at his face. She looked at him as though appalled that he would dare ask her such a question, and then her expression changed to one of suspicion.

"Why, Harry?"

"Was just curious," Harry said truthfully. "Did you...remember anything? Anything at all?"

"No," the girl replied. "Nothing. It would come on as a sort of nausea...then I'd blank out and come back later in a strange place at a strange time doing strange things, and not knowing how I'd gotten there. But why do you ask? Is there more to it?"

Harry shook his head and looked away. He could feel Ginny's eyes on him.

"There is, isn't there?"

"Hmmm."

"Harry?"

"What?"

The girl had him then. She held his gaze like a moth to the flame and he couldn't have looked away if he tried. "I know you're in trouble," she said quietly. "I can see it in you like it was with me."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've always said how people never truly observe one another, Harry. You've always hinted that there's more to people than you will ever know. Even your best friends don't know who you truly are." She took an arm gently and slid her hand underneath the sleeve of his robe where her fingers trailed along the fresh scabs on his skin. Harry made no move to pull away or to yell at her...he never broke her gaze.

Ginny's fears were confirmed. She took her hand away and looked at him indescribably. "When did you start this?"

"Years ago," Harry confessed after a long and painful pause. Ginny looked at the ground and rolled up a sleeve on her own robes. Harry gasped sharply. Long white scars trailed up the girl's pale flesh, long since healed over. So she _did_ understand, then.

"Ginny!"

"What?" Ginny asked him, her eyes boring holes into his. "Do you think we're all fucking immune to this?"

"When?"

"Second year, the Chamber of Secrets," she said. "I was so scared when...I didn't know what to do...I thought it was me who was attacking all those people."

Harry's eyes were sad. "But...why you? Why did that have to happen to you?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Ginny said reassuringly. "It's over and done with and that's the short and short of it. I just wanted to...to tell you that I'm here. Everyone says they understand what it's like, but truthfully, nobody here does. Except for maybe a few Slytherins."

Harry thought he really was going to cry now, but he once again fought the urge. He pulled Ginny Weasley into a tight hug and held her there for a long time, breathing in the scent of her hair, relaxing, knowing that he had someone he could trust now. That was something he'd wanted all his life.

Ginny pulled back slightly and planted a kiss on Harry's cheek. She smiled faintly at him and rested the tip of her freckled nose against his.

"Can we stay here a little longer?" Harry murmured. "I don't particularly want to be pestered all day to do my homework."

"That's fine," Ginny replied softly, closing her eyes.

From behind Hagrid's hut came a loud, ear-splitting screech and Fang began barking madly.

"Bloody hell, yeh silly creature!" the half-giant roared. "What have I taught yeh about trying to fetch Bowtruckles?"

xxxxxxxx

**Ahmad53832 **- You wanted to know what Snape meant when he said, _"Are you home, Potter?"_ This would be like someone knocking on your head with their knuckles and saying, "Helloooo? Anyone in there?" I should have had him dripping with sarcasm. Bugger, all the good ideas come to me when I've already posted. :)


	18. The Queen of Swords

Rated R for swearing, violence and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

—x—x—x—

Chapter 18: The Queen of Swords

A monarch butterfly made its way into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry through an open window on the first floor, the white transparent curtains billowing on the cool breeze that sent orange, red, brown and yellow leaves swirling into pillars of colour around the stone hut on the edge of the forest. Shouts and screams were carried in on the wind like snatches of ghostly whispers from the Quidditch pitch across the grounds, and the butterfly let itself drift on the rushing air, relaxing its wings for a second before it was forced to bat them once more.

This butterfly was dying. It was still beautiful in its orange and black colouring, although they were faded and the wings were brittle, the body a little gray. It floated downwards gently to rest on the stone floor, its antennae sweeping its surroundings curiously, moving slightly to walk a little ways before it settled in one place to rest.

"Gryffindor...seventy - thirty..." came a distant call from the outdoors followed by a loud roar of cheering before the wind drowned out the sound. A good deal of leaves blew into the classroom on the gust and scattered haphazardly over the floor. The butterfly crawled nearer to a table to avoid being hit. It was very tired.

The gray cat that crept up behind it went unnoticed by the insect. This cat knew how to sneak up on things, and a mere butterfly was no exception. It paused and prowled around the crinkled leaves, its fur standing on end slightly as the cold air swept over its body.

"Oh, what are you doing?"

Mrs. Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on her master and gave a feeble meow, then coughed up a damp piece of wing followed by a ball of fuzz.

Filch rolled his eyes and sighed. "Butterfly's I don't care about, but the other critters are what I want you lookin' after. Spiders, cockroaches...the like that are runnin' round this place. You hear?"

Mrs. Norris meowed again and licked up the wing, then trotted after Filch as he finished emptying the wastebasket in the classroom.

—x—x—x—

"Five points from Gryffindor for giving Mr. Malfoy the middle finger on the pitch, Potter, even though he was yelling horrible things at you from the crowd, but other than that it was an excellent match!"

"Thanks Professor McGonagall."

"Brilliant, Harry!"

"Thanks, Alicia..."

The sunlight made him squint and he smiled at the Chaser in appreciativeness before trying to make his way over to where Ron was sitting on the grass, clutching his arm tightly. His broomstick lay on the ground beside him, most of its twigs bent in precarious directions.

"I'm so sorry, Ron...I didn't mean to...are you all right?"

Ron looked up painfully into Harry's face and smiled (or grimaced, more like). "Of course I am! We won, didn't we?"

Harry gingerly smiled back, still worried. "You fell pretty hard...Are you really OK? How's your arm? Its not broken, is it?"

"Actually yeah, it is," Ron said happily as Angelina and Professor McGonagall tried to hoist him up off the ground. "But don't worry," he added, seeing the horrified look on Harry's face. "It's nothing. Pomphrey will have it fixed in no time."

"I'm so sorry, Ron! If I had of known - "

"It's OK, Harry, really," Ron called to him, still smiling; as McGonagall was leading him up to the castle. "I'll see you at lunch!"

"Right," Harry said to himself, feeling terrible. He had spotted the Snitch the exact same time that Cho had, and the two of them had raced like mad towards the Gryffindor goal hoops where it hovered in mid-air. At the last second, it veered sharply off to sit above Ron's head, and Harry, his attention fixed only on the shimmering golden ball, had caught it...but had also ploughed straight into the redhead Keeper, sending him flying off his broom to the ground below.

It had been a good match, yes, with Gryffindor winning two-hundred-and-twenty to forty. Ron had done a spectacular job at keeping the Ravenclaw Chasers from scoring, and Dean had had to leave the game early due to a nasty Bludger to the head, but Ginny had done miraculously in his place. Cho, on the other hand, had resigned from the Ravenclaw team right on the spot and had thrown her broom at the Captain, saying that she should never have become Seeker in the first place, and she was too old now anyway.

Spotting Hermione running to catch up with Ron and Professor McGonagall through the throng of people, Harry wove his way out of the crowd (which was very difficult, seeing as almost everyone wanted to stop and talk to him), and broke into a run as well, his Firebolt and Ron's Cleansweep clutched tightly in each hand. He passed Professor Snape who was walking alone back up to the school and tried to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach. Snape gazed at the Seeker indescribably and bent his head to look at the ground until Harry was ahead of him.

"How does it feel, Mr. Weasley?" Professor McGonagall was asking Ron.

"Hurts like mad," Ron replied, strained, an exuberant smile on his freckled face. "But really...it's all right..."

"Oh don't be silly, Ron," Hermione said worriedly from beside him. "It looks awful - "

"Hey," Harry said breathlessly as he caught up to them. Hermione smiled at him and relieved him of Ron's broomstick.

"I did so much better during this match!" Ron said excitedly, positively beaming at Harry. "Don't you think? It was brilliant!"

Professor McGonagall gave a small chuckle. "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. I think everyone noticed, even amongst Mr. Malfoy's shouting..."

"Harry shut him up beautifully," Ron laughed. "What _was_ he saying, anyway?" His arm was beginning to turn a nasty shade of purple where the flesh was visible due to the rolled-up sleeve of his Quidditch robe. Professor McGonagall smiled in spite of herself at Ron's comment.

"The usual," Hermione answered darkly, throwing an anxious look over her shoulder as though expecting to see Malfoy walking right behind them. Spying no one but Snape at a distance, she sighed and looked back around again just in time to avoid tripping over a rock. "Calling Harry _Scarhead_ and making fun of...of...making fun of Mrs. Weasley and calling the team rubbish..."

Ron tutted angrily as they came upon the front doors. Professor McGonagall summoned them open and led Ron inside, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Harry fell back with Hermione as the doors closed heavily behind them and the warmth of the Entrance Hall wrapped them in its embrace. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Hermione looked at Harry, surprised. "Of course I am...why do you ask?"

Harry looked around him to make sure no one was there. "You've just been quieter than usual lately...and the look that comes over your face when you mention Malfoy..."

"Harry," Hermione said as they ascended the staircase to the upper floors. "That look comes over _everyone's_ face when Malfoy is mentioned."

"I guess," the black-haired boy replied, switching his Firebolt to his other hand. "But..."

"I'm fine, really," Hermione quickly reassured him in a singsong voice. "You don't have to be worried, all right?"

Harry smiled grimly and nodded, and Hermione gave his hand a gentle squeeze before stopping and holding out Ron's broom to him.

"Here...I'm sure you'd fancy a shower or something? I can look in on Ron, if you want...you go on."

Harry accepted the Cleansweep and regarded Hermione strangely. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"_Yes,"_ the girl said exasperatedly. "I'll go check on Ron and you can meet me there later if you want...I just thought you'd like to clean up a bit before lunch, you look a little sweaty..."

Actually, a shower did sound really good at the moment. "All right, then. Tell Ron I said hello."

"I will," Hermione called as she swiftly strode down the corridor towards the Hospital Wing.

Harry turned around and began the trek up to Gryffindor Tower, somehow not feeling very reassured at all.

—x—x—x—

The Great Hall was decorated for Halloween more spectacularly than Harry had ever seen it before.

The levitating candles had once more been replaced by fiery Jack-O-Lantern's, all with different but very sinister faces carved into them. A storm of screeching bats fluttered around near the ceiling, which was bewitched to look like witches and wizards were flying around the starry night sky on broomsticks. A cackle could be heard from some of them at odd times, which would echo through the hall and send delightful shivers down people's spines. Occasionally, bits of confetti shaped like black cats and cauldrons would shower themselves lightly over the students, and the food was no exception to the holiday. Large cauldrons of sweets had been levitated at each end of the table, and were floating around and around so that everyone could reach in and grab a handful to stuff into their pockets for later.

"Excellent!" Ron said happily as he chose a chicken leg and threw it onto his plate. "It's really good this year!"

The torch on the wall nearest to them erupted into a snarling, ghostly face for a moment before resuming back to its normal flame. Parvati and Lavender gasped in surprise.

"Did you want help with that?" Harry asked Ron, who was trying to pick a steaming corncob out of a dish. His injured arm was still tender and sore from the previous day, and Madame Pomphrey had been able to heal it, but had instructed him to use it as little as possible for the next little while or so.

"Nah, I'm good," Ron answered, grabbing hold of it with both hands. "Bugger, that's hot."

A sudden bell-like noise sounded loudly and everyone looked up at the staff table. Professor Dumbledore had tapped on his glass with a spoon and was standing up, his robes bright orange with black stars patterned across them. Several people cheered and the old wizard held up a hand, smiling. Silence fell immediately.

"I would like to sincerely wish all of you a happy Halloween," Dumbledore announced, his eyes bright. "And I have just received a notice from Mr. Filch that I would like to share with you all, regarding the behaviour of students in the past during this time of year."

The hall waited expectantly, and from high above, a witch's cackle rang down on them all.

"Our caretaker would like no pranks of any sort in the corridors to be played on himself and/or on any of your fellow schoolmates," Dumbledore said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "As well as in the common rooms and dormitories. This would include frightening the first-years and so on, I believe that was popular last year..."

Amidst Ron's laughter, he choked out, "That's what Fred and George used to do..."

"And no being out of your dormitories past nine o'clock," the Headmaster went on, suddenly sounding serious as the first-years at every table regarded each other uneasily. "Just because it is Halloween doesn't mean that you all have permission to disregard the curfew." He cast a slightly humorous look over the Great Hall and his gaze settled on the spot that was usually occupied by the Weasley twins. "I think it would be a nice treat for Mr. Filch if he had a pleasant evening for once, don't you agree?"

Ron snorted and Hermione giggled into her pumpkin juice.

"If anyone has any questions about Mr. Filch's request, I believe he has printed up a notice which is pinned up on his office door next to the banned items list, or you could seek him out yourselves and ask him..."

Several people shuddered.

"Other than that," Dumbledore said joyously, settling back down into his chair. "Tuck in!"

After a good deal of applause (in which someone from the Hufflepuff table yelled, "Smashing robes, Headmaster!"), the Hall resumed its usual chatter, the chink of forks and knives all about them again. Another witch cackled eerily into the room from above.

"Actually, they might have gone a bit overboard," Ron decided irritably as black cat confetti fell softly into his goblet. Harry nodded in agreement as a paper cauldron nestled itself into his mashed potatoes, followed soon by two black cats and one more that was oddly shaped like Neville's _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ plant. He vanished them with a wave of his wand and resumed picking at his food with his fork like he had been doing since he came back for sixth year.

"So! Quidditch!" Ginny said eagerly, chewing on a piece of baked asparagus. "Angelina advised us to start thinking about this now...we need to find new Chasers for next year's team."

"Oh yeah," Ron said around his mouthful of chicken. "Well...we don't really have to be doing that _now_, particularly, do we?"

Hermione sighed and threw Ron an irritated look. "It'd probably be a good idea if you lot put a notice up or something in the common room, letting people know that the positions are open for next year, don't you think?"

Ron scowled at her and threw his pumpkin juice-soaked confetti into her dinner.

"Give the lot some time to practice," Ginny agreed, giggling as Hermione retaliated and hexed Ron's corncob to hop down the length of the table and throw itself off the end. Everyone laughed and pointed at it as it passed (one of the Creevey brothers snapped a picture), and Mrs. Norris, who had been lurking around for signs of dropped food, picked it up and carried it off out of the Hall with her teeth. "I hope the ones who'll be trying out are good, though..."

"I can do up a few signs tonight," Hermione said, ignoring Ron's indignant look. "Oh...wait, no I can't. Ron and I have a Prefect meeting after dinner..."

"We do?" Ron asked. Hermione grunted in annoyance and resumed eating her dinner in moody silence.

"Let me guess, that's going to take away from the time you could be spending doing Snape's two feet of parchment on Bloodstones, right?" Ron asked her in mock concern.

"Oh shut up," the harassed girl replied sharply. "It's not due until Thursday and I'm almost done it..."

"That assignment was his way of punishing us for that nasty bit of work on Veritaserum, anyway," said Seamus, who had been listening amusedly to their conversation. "We won't be trying it again until next year, I guess."

"Oh yay," Ron grunted.

Harry jabbed at his mashed potatoes, poking patterns of holes into them almost amusedly. He felt a little warm and his scar was beginning to ache a little...it always did during the evening...

"Harry?" Hermione called uncertainly, her fork halfway to her mouth. "Are you all right? You're awfully quiet."

Harry looked up and grinned, then nodded in response. Hermione grinned back and continued eating, then glanced at Ginny with a strange expression in her eyes.

Harry sighed and took to looking around him at the various decorations and displays, not oblivious to all the stares he was receiving but pretending to be so. His dinner lay untouched on his plate and he had no intention of eating it, the smell alone made him queasy. The taste of food also nauseated him these days and he could choke down a piece of toast and maybe some coffee or pumpkin juice if he was lucky, but other than that he ate practically nothing all day. After all, he was so used to living on things like cold soup and Jammy Dodgers at the Dursley house...He sighed and rubbed his eyes, not knowing what emotion to pick out of the raging storm when it came to his deceased family. He didn't know...he was angry that they were the subjects of Voldemort's wrath after all; he wouldn't wish something like that on his worst enemy. Even Draco Malfoy. The thought surprised him. He put his fork down on his plate and sat in silence, brooding. He wished he was happier...he sincerely did...but how the hell could he be?

The fact that it was Halloween did nothing to brighten his spirits. Winning the Quidditch game against Ravenclaw the day before had been amazing like it always was, but the satisfaction was fleeting. Now he was back to normal, with a feeling in his stomach that something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it, however, so he stayed silent, his brain thinking about a million different things at once.

He stared glassily at Ginny, not really seeing her, who was engaged in a very serious conversation with Hermione. Once the brown-haired girl looked over at him and smiled faintly before snapping her head back to Ginny, looking a little apprehensive. Harry found that he didn't care. So they were probably talking about him...who wasn't? Thanks to the Daily Prophet (again), he had been the subject of conversation at Hogwarts for weeks now. Everywhere he went he would be followed by dozens of pairs of eyes, all staring, all wondering, all judging. He began to breathe slightly heavier than he had been in the relaxed atmosphere, and his temper was rising. At the moment he wanted to seize his plate and throw it at the floor...or maybe even at Malfoy, who was currently laughing disgustingly about something with Crabbe and Goyle.

Upon further observation, Crabbe looked a little...down. Quiet. Sad. Harry didn't know how to put it. Crabbe's shoulders were slumped and his head was bent, his dark eyes downcast and deep in thought the same way Harry's had been mere moments ago. Malfoy didn't seem to take any notice, however, and caught Harry looking at them.

"What, Potter?" he said loudly. "Get that Mudblood Creevey to take a picture for you!"

Harry growled and turned around heatedly. Now he was looking up at the staff table and found Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, Professor Flitwick and Hagrid staring straight back at him. They all quickly broke their gazes once his eyes met theirs, and began talking merrily to one another as though nothing had happened.

Harry wanted to break something.

—x—x—x—

"Do you think he's all right, Albus?"

Dumbledore lowered his goblet and sighed, gazing sadly at Harry once more before meeting Professor McGonagall's eyes. He had noticed that Harry hadn't been eating very well since he had returned from the summer, and it worried him. At the present moment the boy looked angry enough to hex the lot of them into oblivion. That worried him as well.

Merlin's beard, he was constantly worried nowadays. It couldn't be good for his old age.

"I don't know," he confessed tiredly as a screech of laughter resounded from the Slytherin table. "I have no idea what to do, Minerva. I've spoken to Severus about continuing Occlumency, but..."

"You don't think he will progress far enough in the course of the year to fully shut out V-Voldemort?"

"If the severity of the possession was indeed as bad as it was," Dumbledore answered, his eyes devoid of their normal twinkle. "Then...I am very fearful for the boy. Very fearful."

Minerva's eyes met the Headmaster's in a silent understanding. "Will he have to be taken out of Gryffindor Tower? Surely it cannot be that bad - "

"It might be," Albus interrupted. "And if it is..." He sighed. "I don't know. I will have to speak with you and Severus about it later. Perhaps we can come up with something then."

"All right," the Deputy Headmistress said, glancing darkly at Potter. "All right."

—x—x—x—

Snape hated Peeves with every fibre in his body. Even his clothes hated Peeves.

He sat, eating his dinner in glowering silence, trying to remember if he'd ever seen a potion that could vanquish ghosts...particularly Poltergeists like the sodding piece of work that was probably currently bouncing around the Trophy Room. Or vandalizing a loo somewhere. Or upending the waste bins in a classroom. Heaven forbid Peeves would dare go into his office...

He'd always been under the impression that Peeves would never piss off a Professor. He had been sadly mistaken when the stupid phantom had emptied an entire ink bottle over his head on his way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. The little man had even been considerate enough to write a song in Snape's honour, which he sang as he began pelting him with pieces of chalk and pellets of Boubotuber pus (heaven knew where he'd gotten those from). The potions master growled at the feeble memory of the lyrics, which hadn't been pleasant to say the least.

A horrible, festering shriek of laughter erupted from the Slytherin table suddenly and Snape cringed, almost embarrassed that that noise had come from his own house. He vaguely wondered what combination of witch and wizard could produce something so foul, then he sniggered at the thought. Parkinson, no doubt. Lately she'd been laughing horribly at every little thing Malfoy did, presumably to get his attention. Severus shook his head at the prospect of raging teenage hormones and felt suddenly sorry that Malfoy had that banshee on his tail to deal with. Hell, she'd even snorted with unsuppressed glee when the boy had cut the wrong end off a Wormwood plant in potions. Hardly comical, he thought. He'd have hexed her right then and there if he were Draco, and Snape had to admit, he probably wouldn't have minded if Malfoy had done just that. He should really suggest it to the blond git sometime.

Minerva was making her way towards him and Severus sighed, bracing himself for whatever she had to yell at him for this time. Surprisingly she didn't look irritated like she usually did and Snape was momentarily stunned.

"Good evening, Severus," McGonagall said, her eyes anxiously sweeping the Hall of students.

Snape grunted out a hello, hoping she wouldn't notice -

"Why Severus...what on earth happened to your head?"

Fuck.

The ink Peeves had poured on him had plastered his hair to his skull, making it look like the top of his head was shaved clean and painted jet-black. He seethed and suddenly became aware that he was groping for his wand. Withdrawing his hand from his pocket quickly, he fought his urge to hex the woman and forced his face into a painful grimace.

"Fucking Poltergeist."

Minerva's eyes widened and she looked like she was going to slap him, and then suddenly she choked out a small laugh before clapping a withered hand to her mouth.

"_Peeves?"_

Severus bared his teeth.

The Professor hid her laughter with an enormous amount of effort, and settled for looking highly amused. "I'm here to let you know that Albus wishes you and I to make an appearance in his office tonight after dinner. We need to sort some matters out...regarding..."

"Potter?"

"Yes."

"How did I know that?"

McGonagall shot him a piercing look. "Don't start, Professor Snape. Save it for later, please."

"As you wish." He realized that he really wanted her to go away. "Go away."

Minerva straightened and glared down through her glasses at him. "Maybe you should wash your hair before you come up then," she said smugly. "It might help a little."

Snape exited the Great Hall, swearing.

—x—x—x—

"Blimey I'm stuffed!" Ron exclaimed contentedly, standing up and stretching, a shower of confetti falling from his robes. "Is anyone else done eating?"

"I am," Harry said, leaving his seat as well. Ron looked down at Harry's mutilated food and then glanced back up at his friend, his red eyebrows raised.

"You didn't eat anything."

Harry shrugged. "You know...I had a bite of potatoes...I just wasn't hungry."

Hermione stuffed _Toilsome Transfiguration And How To Learn It_ into her book bag and swung it precariously over her shoulder. "We've got that Prefect meeting soon anyways, so I guess I'll skip dessert...all the sweets that were going around...I've got enough to last me until Christmas."

"Oh good," Ron replied. "You can give me some when I run out, then."

"You've got more than I do!" Hermione said indignantly, pointing to the bulging pockets of Ron's robes. "How are you going to finish all those off before me?"

"Well everyone needs a bit of a pick-me-up in class, Hermione," Ron said as though it were the most obvious thing on earth. "As long as the teacher doesn't notice of course..."

"_You are a Prefect, Ron,"_ Hermione hissed as the two began making their way out of the room. Harry chuckled and gazed at them warmly before looking down at Ginny, who was sitting uneasily in her seat.

"Are you coming?"

"Me?" Ginny asked, eyeing him nervously. "Oh no...I've...I've got to talk to one of the Professors about something." Another cackle trickled down into the room.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling slightly put-out. He really was looking forward to spending time with her that evening. "All right then...I guess I'll meet you up at the Tower when you're done? It won't take long, will it?"

Ginny mumbled something and smiled slightly at him, blushing furiously. Harry paused a moment in confusion and then headed for the door, his green eyes filled with anxiety. Something was wrong.

Emerging into the Entrance Hall and finding nothing but stares and whispers all around, he sighed and made a beeline for the stairs, not stopping until he was flopped moodily into an armchair before the crackling flames of the Gryffindor fireplace.

—x—x—x—

"Ah, Severus. Thank you for joining us."

"Good evening, Headmaster."

Severus marched swiftly into the torch-lit room, his newly washed hair very free of ink. A few portraits on the wall sniggered and Severus threw them murderous looks before he spotted Minerva giving him an appraising glance. She settled into her chair, grinning.

"Please," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a squashy chintz armchair in front of his desk next to McGonagall's rickety wooden one. "Have a seat."

Severus nodded curtly and sat, hoping the meeting would end shortly. All he wanted to do was slide between the sheets on his own bed and sleep for the next five weeks. Just thinking about it made his eyelids heavy and he courageously fought to keep them open.

"How did you like the feast, Minerva?"

"Oh it was lovely Albus, I must remember to tell Professor Flitwick how good a job he did this year..."

Severus groaned with mingled exhaustion and impatience. "If we could please get to the point," he said tiredly. "I would be in a much better mood than I could be."

Albus smiled and seemed to understand. "Of course...my apologies, Severus."

Snape waved them away with a pale hand. Fawkes gave a small chirp from his perch, a baby Phoenix sitting in place of the larger one he had seen not that long ago. It looked rather ugly in this stage of its life, Snape observed. It resembled something you'd feed a Hippogriff for breakfast.

"We are here," the Headmaster announced gravely. "To discuss what we are going to do about Harry."

"Send him to St. Mungo's," Severus suggested. "And get it over with."

"Severus," Minerva hissed testily. Albus looked as though he knew this would happen, and said nothing.

"The first and foremost thing we must look at," the ancient wizard said. "Is the fact that Lord Voldemort has found a way to possess Harry inside Hogwarts. Severus...I was wondering if you had any suggestions about this. Would extra Occlumency lessons help at all?"

"Of course they would," Snape replied. "The fact remains that Potter doesn't seem to want to learn how to apply this branch of magic to himself. I have informed him during previous lessons that his nightmares, his headaches, and his mind in general would be greatly released from Voldemort should he become skilled and successful with this ability. However..."

"He is showing little progress?"

"Very right, Minerva. You certainly are very well educated, aren't you?"

"Severus, please," Albus said pleadingly. "I would very much like it if you could find it in you to cooperate right now."

"My apologies, Headmaster...Professor McGonagall." _I don't know why I'm here, however, seeing as you and Miss Swot will come to the final decision whether I give you my input or not..._

Albus sat and thought for a moment, twirling the end of his silvery beard absent-mindedly around his index finger. "All right," he said after a pause. "Severus...if you could assign him more Occlumency lessons, I would be very relieved."

"But what about the possession?" Minerva said anxiously, her eyes wide. "We cannot simply ignore it! We've all been watching the boy like hawks every day of the month!"

"I wasn't going to forget it," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I had a thought in mind, but I will have to run it by Severus before I make it official."

"And what is that?" Snape inquired sarcastically, already knowing what it was.

"If Harry spent more time in your company, Severus," Albus said, his eyes very serious and reflecting the light of the fire. "I think he might be able to pick up on the Occlumency a little better than if he were swamped with other things all the time. With other people, other worries...heaven knows how much is swirling around in his mind when he goes to sleep at night."

"Indeed," Severus replied, too crestfallen to say anything else.

"Would you mind...taking him on like this?" the Headmaster asked gingerly, apparently afraid that his potions master might explode into either a fit of rage or a pool of tears in his office. "He would be staying with you if he feels the need, of course...spending some extra time getting some lessons in with you, doing homework, going to you if he needs anything..."

Severus eyed the old man blearily. He already knew that arguing would do absolutely nothing, and it would piss Minerva off greatly. The latter he wasn't so concerned about, it was Dumbledore that he didn't really want to be angering. He'd seen the man in a towering temper before and he did not have being on the receiving end of it on his to-do list. His head was killing him and his arm was aching from where the Dark Mark had burned earlier that day, so needless to say, having the bane of his existence gallivanting into his private rooms whenever he liked wasn't helping him any. He wondered if, perhaps, he was being a little too surely...then he sneered as he dismissed the thought. Gods, no. He had every right to be.

"Severus?" Minerva said, breaking into his thoughts. "Is this all right?"

"I suppose," the man said, his lip curling. Minerva shuddered and turned back to look at Albus, who was smiling in appreciativeness.

"I ask only," Snape said. "What the hell I do in the event of Potter being possessed again? He almost killed me before, Headmaster."

"I will take the liberty of placing wards around your rooms as I have done with Gryffindor Tower," the man said reassuringly. "Should anything go wrong, I will be alerted immediately."

"Comforting," Snape mumbled.

—x—x—x—

Harry opened his eyes halfway and yawned, stretching. He shifted comfortably on the armchair, feeling very cozy, and realized that his right leg had fallen asleep. Rubbing his eyes wearily he sat up, the smell of the fire soothing him.

"You're awake."

Harry was very relaxed at the moment. He cast a glance out a window and saw inky black night sky, then caught sight of Hermione who had fallen asleep in the other armchair as he had, an open potions book on her lap. Ginny was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, a deck of what looked like Tarot cards spread out around her. Harry fixed his emerald gaze on her and Ginny smiled.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"I was gone for about an hour and a half," Ginny said, lowering her head a little. "And I've been here for about thirty minutes doing Divination homework..."

Harry's eyes narrowed and he thought he detected a hint of guilt to her tone, but he didn't feel like pursuing it at the moment. He yawned again and ran a sleepy hand through his tousled black hair, and a soft look came over Ginny's face. She studied him a moment and beckoned him to sit across from her on the floor.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked as he flopped in a cross-legged position by the flames, a warm tingle going up his spine at the sudden heat.

"We have to give ourselves a reading," Ginny replied, tying her hair into a messy bun at the back of her head. "And record everything for Trelawney. After we're done that, we've got to pick someone to read for."

"Really?" Harry asked, intrigued. "We never got to do that."

Ginny shrugged. "I've already done mine, I'm just finishing up writing everything down..."

Harry stared at her as she bent her head over her parchment, the scratching of her quill oddly mesmerizing. She was in her pajamas again, this time wearing baggy violet trousers and an oversized white t-shirt with a falcon-head emblem across the chest.

"You support the Falmouth Falcons?" Harry asked. Ginny looked up, confused for a moment, and then realized what he was talking about.

"No, this used to belong to Charlie," Ginny said timidly, plucking at the thin fabric. "The Falcons are his favourite team. I fancy the Montrose Magpies myself..." She paused, embarrassed at the hand-me-down, then awkwardly began writing again.

"Yeah, the Magpies are all right I guess," Harry said, trying to break the silence. "From what I've read anyway. I've never seen a professional Quidditch game apart from the World Cup..."

Ginny put her parchment and quill down beside her and gathered the cards up until they were back into their deck. "You're missing out," she said, shaking her head. "Of course, I've only been to two other games besides the Cup before...I saw the Wigtown Wanderers play the Moutohora Macaws from Australia when I was about eight, and Bill took me to see Puddlemere play the Wimbourne Wasps the year before I came to Hogwarts."

Harry grinned and fixed his attention on the cards. They were very large, bigger than the ordinary playing cards he'd seen Dudley carry around with him before he'd gotten bored and switched to computer games, and they had an ornate, midnight blue design printed onto the back. Harry was interested in spite of himself.

"So these actually work, do they?"

"Well I suppose," Ginny answered, smiling a little. "If you know how to use them, obviously..."

"Can you do a reading for me, then?"

Ginny's eyes widened and she regarded Harry with reluctance to his request. "Me?"

"Yeah," Harry pressed. "It doesn't have to be for Divination if you don't want it to be...just for fun..."

Ginny sighed and shook her head a little, then smiled sheepishly. "All right...well...here then." She placed the deck in Harry's outstretched palm. "I need you to shuffle them for me."

Harry had no idea how to shuffle, but he tried anyway, losing many cards in the process. Ginny watched him struggle, her eyes bright and full of amusement. "When do I stop?" Harry asked, blushing a little at how stupid he must look.

"Whenever you feel like it," Ginny replied, tilting her head to one side. Harry nodded and kept trying to shuffle for a little while longer, then placed the deck onto the floor again, defeated with the task.

"Good," Ginny said quietly. "Now I need you to cut the deck twice to make three piles."

Harry smirked and did so. "Now what?"

"Recombine them into one deck in whatever order you feel is best," the redhead answered, sounding oddly like Hermione (who was still sleeping soundly on the chair). Harry paused for a moment and thought, then stacked the piles one on top of the other until it was whole again.

"I'll take them now," Ginny announced, snatching the deck up off the floor. From beside her she picked up a lone card she hadn't placed into the pile, and set it on the rug. The Hermit.

The girl began placing the cards she picked in succession from the top of the pile into an odd pattern on the floor, her eyes becoming a little more curious with each one. Harry watched her work, an inquiring expression on his face as well.

"All right...the first card..." Ginny breathed, her eyes roaming the spread. Harry counted them, there being ten cards in all. "How you're doing right now is represented by the upright five of swords. It...it tells of sorrow, grief, and mourning due to a...tragic situation." The girl's brown eyes flicked sadly up to Harry's face. "It also tells of possible hidden dangers all around you."

Harry cleared his throat, grinning a little. "Well...I'd say that sounds about right..."

Ginny made a grim face and continued, pointing to the second card. "Matters and things that affect the first card are revealed by this one, the reversed eight of wands. Oh...this one...the suit of wands I'm not as good at..."

"It's OK," Harry said, smiling reassuringly at her. He'd never had this done before and he was actually sort of enjoying it...despite the darkness of the reading in general.

"This one means there have been rows and disputes everywhere," Ginny said slowly, struggling to remember. "Fighting with friends, with yourself, with enemies...the time is moving quickly for yourself and those who oppose you, and this card says you have to move fast with it or people might be hurt. Nice, eh?"

Harry blinked, his stomach clenching a little.

"If this is too awkward I can stop," Ginny offered. Harry shook his head and gestured for her to continue, his grin fading.

"OK, then," Ginny said, looking extremely wary. "This card up here is your goals regarding this situation and your chances of achieving them right now. This is the reversed Page of wands...bugger it...er, this one means your goal is to find some help for yourself...a close friend and someone you can fully trust." Ginny's expression suddenly became troubled and she shook her head.

"What?" Harry asked, his interest sparked.

"This...this person can't be trusted," the girl said tensely. "The Page in this suit means instability and indecision. You will be flattered by someone and that flattery will...will put you off your guard."

A lump was growing quickly in Harry's throat and he stared hard at Ginny. "Go on, then."

Ginny sighed and rubbed her eyes. "The fourth card is your past; reasons leading up to your present situation. This is the upright Devil. Wow...er...it basically means hatred, turmoil, fatality, bad luck...your own will taken away from you to be controlled by another...two guesses as to who that is."

Harry laughed dryly. He wasn't enjoying this anymore. "I guess..."

Ginny focused her attention on the next card and her face became stony. She looked up into Harry's eyes. "Really Harry, I can stop if you want. Are you tired? You look tired. Maybe you should go up to bed."

"No Ginny, really, I'm finding this really... " Harry said, unable to determine the word. He felt like lead, actually. He swallowed and nodded for her to keep reading. Ginny looked desperate.

"This fifth card represents the series of events in your life that are taking place or have already taken place, and those events are now changing to reveal what the next card has to say. Do you get it?"

"So...this card will tell of what's changing right now around me?"

Ginny nodded, her hand shaking as she brushed a piece of hair out of her eye. "This is the reversed Queen of swords," she stammered. "S-she is a woman in your life who has an intent to go behind your back and betray you...she will cause you a lot of pain and/or a lot of embarrassment."

Silence descended on the two and the flames crackled merrily despite the tension in the room.

"Oh," Harry said finally, his gaze boring holes into the woman before him. _What_ woman was the card speaking of? Certainly not Hermione, she was one of his best friends. Not Mrs. Weasley either or Professor McGonagall or Tonks...his Aunt was already dead...he could think of no one.

Wait...no, that was preposterous.

Harry suddenly couldn't seem to find his tongue, so he said nothing else. Ginny's eyebrows were knit together in anxiety and she hurriedly went on to the next card.

"This is your immediate future, Harry. It is told by the reversed three of swords. Oh Merlin...this card foretells pain due...due to the Queen of swords, causing you to become blinded with an unclear head. It says you must s-stay focused if you're going to keep control of yourself...this...this card means the breaking up of a partnership..."

"A partnership?" Harry asked her, his stomach sinking. "Do you mean a friend-type one, or..."

"I'm sorry Harry, I can't do this anymore." Ginny said quickly. She stood up and shook her head at him, her red hair falling loose around her shoulders. "I'm really sorry, I'm tired and I need to sleep...um...if you could just gather all those up and throw them on a table somewhere that'd be great...good night, Harry."

Harry just sat and watched her as she scurried away up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. He looked back around at the spread, a feeling of foreboding pouring into him. She hadn't read his last four, and he peered at them searchingly through his wire-rimmed glasses, having no clue as to what they stood for.

"The Fool," he murmured to himself. "Looks kind of dodgy...he's about to walk off a cliff..."

"A person walking blindly to his fate, avoiding all signs of warning," came Hermione's voice. Harry jumped in surprise and saw her; fully awake and looking down at the spread from where she was curled up in her chair.

"How d'you know that?" Harry asked, impressed.

"I studied the Tarot a little when I was still in Divination," Hermione replied as though it was nothing. "Your card is reversed, though...that would mean you're preoccupied with things that aren't necessarily important to your situation right now. Like maybe...your own grief?"

"Hey," Harry said defensively, his anger suddenly flaring. Hermione shook her head.

"I know, I know," she murmured. "That's just what the card is saying...you need to start heeding the warning signs that have been showing themselves as plain as day. Take advantage of any opportunity you might have. Now - The Fool represents you, might I add, - this next one is about your environment, your surroundings and the feeling in them. You've got the upright Knight of coins. Oh wow, this has Ron written all over it."

"Really," Harry said stonily. Hermione sighed.

"Yeah...sorry Harry. It tells of someone who wants what you have and is causing tension because of it. See the picture, the Knight on his horse looking out longingly over the King's lands? Its kind of like Ron looking on while you're...you're busy being Harry Potter, I guess. Sorry to be so blunt."

Harry grunted, knowing full well that it was true.

"This next card is your hopes and fears," Hermione went on, as usual sounding like she'd swallowed the textbook. "You've got the upright six of swords. This one is foretelling a journey of some sort, Harry. A big thing is about to happen to you...you might receive an important message of some sort. Maybe you're scared of this journey and that's your fear, while this message might be your hope?"

"Can't think of any message I'm waiting for," Harry croaked, now fully trembling. This was too weird. This was too accurate...and it wasn't a very favorable reading, either. "And I'm not planning on going anywhere soon..."

"Hmmm," Hermione mused, unconvinced. "This last card here is the outcome, the result of all the other cards in your spread. You have the upright Death. Now, this card doesn't mean actual death all the time, so no worries...although with your present situation..." She stopped suddenly and clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. "Oh gods Harry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that!"

Harry was now convinced he would never be able to move again, he felt so heavy. "It's OK," he managed to say, pretending it was rubbish. "I've been waiting for someone to say something like that for a while now anyway."

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking..." Hermione breathed, looking appalled with herself. "I'm so incredibly sorry, Harry...pretend I didn't say that..."

Harry waved away her apology. "I'm all right."

Hermione cleared her throat, looking at him uneasily. "Death usually means a huge change will happen to you. It will be life changing and very painful, but the result will not necessarily be for the worse. It would foretell a battle of some sort...a dramatic change in a relationship or a setting, I don't know. All I do know is, that if I were to take into account all these other cards...the Devil will come into play in a huge way, while bits like the Queen of swords and the Knight of coins will contribute to the Fool, making you easier prey for the Devil when the time of the Death card arrives."

"And that's it?"

Hermione looked surprised. "Well...yes."

Harry quickly gathered his spread into a small pile and added it to the rest of Ginny's deck. "Thanks for helping me."

Hermione nodded and smiled a little at him, her gaze penetrating.

"By the way," Harry added. "What does the Hermit mean?"

"A journey," Hermione said softly after a moment of reflection. "You're trying to find something and you're like a traveling hermit...alone and lost, searching for yourself."

Her eyes were sad. Harry couldn't believe he was letting this get to him, but he felt like he'd rather the reading never happened. He coughed and smiled feebly up at her and tried to hide his shaking hands in the folds of his robes.

"Look Harry," Hermione said quietly. "I'm sorry I blurted that out, it was dumb of me."

Harry nodded once. "It's all right, really."

Hermione looked at him for a long time. It was making Harry uncomfortable. "Do you want to talk about Ginny?"

Harry exhaled quickly through his nose. "Not really. Maybe later."

"All right," the girl replied, closing her potions book and standing up, stretching. "Well, I think I'll head off to bed...Happy Halloween, then."

"You too," Harry said, his mind elsewhere, as he was left alone in the common room.

—x—x—x—

**Alexa**, **kab240** and **Tigris T Draconis** - Don't worry guys, the "fluff" won't last long. ;) I'm not a huge fan of that particular pairing myself. I'll just grin evilly and wink in a sort of hinting way. Mwahahah.


	19. The Second Slytherin Revenge

1Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

—x—x—x—

Chapter 19: The Second Slytherin Revenge

"Get up. Get up!"

Harry was shaking. He groaned and pressed his forehead to the cold stone floor in an attempt to banish the pain in his scar, aware of the two ice-like eyes that were boring holes into his back. He didn't care about the dust being caked onto his skin from the contact with ancient stone, or the way his knees were bleeding from him falling over all the time.

He didn't care about anything.

"Potter! _Get! Up!"_

Knowing full well what would happen to him if he disobeyed his order, he suppressed a shudder and pushed himself off the floor again, gripping his wand with trembling fingers. A jolt went up through his back and into his head and he almost yelped.

Snape stood menacingly across the dark room, his pale face practically glowing against the black of his robes. His lip was curled in nothing short of disgust and he glared at the young wizard before him as though wishing him dead. The freezing dungeon classroom, lit by only a few torches, looked cheery, warm and welcoming against the petulant expression that the potions master had on his white face. Harry braced himself for another outburst.

"Weakness!" Snape cried angrily, his nostrils flaring, slamming a fist down onto the nearest table. "Nothing but weakness! You are making no effort!"

"_I am!"_ Harry yelled heatedly, and in doing so causing his head to explode with pain. Wincing against it he furrowed his brow as if in worry and concentrated only on drawing breath. The room began to sway slightly and Harry roughly backed against the wall behind him for support.

"I do not see it," Snape hissed, walking up to the boy and looking down at him through fiery eyes. "I have seen no sort of progression since you have begun classes this year! None at all! Why am I wasting my time on you when you have absolutely no desire to excel in this!"

"I can throw it off," Harry protested, gritting his teeth, painfully aware that Snape was almost nose-to-nose with him. "I can break through it."

"Barely," the potions master whispered. "You still give away too much."

"Well I'm sorry," Harry shot back, his temper rising quickly. "But it's bloody hard to concentrate while my head feels like it's being ripped apart."

"Oh, spare me the theatrics," Snape snapped, backing away to walk stiffly to his original place across the room. "I daresay I've heard enough of them." He turned around to face the boy and his robes billowed around him as if they were carried on a wind.

Harry gaped in fury. He stifled a moan of pain by biting his lower lip and his eyes watered. This was ridiculous. He hadn't eaten that morning and he knew as soon as he'd knocked on Snape's classroom door that he should have. His stomach was feeling painfully empty and his head swam with dizziness. Snape didn't seem to notice or to care, however, and so the Occlumency lessons had begun at seven that morning, and would run until the first classes began. Harry's just happened to be double Potions.

So far the lesson had been terrible. It was just after eight o'clock and Harry could throw off the spell, but it still took him a little while. He couldn't understand it. He could easily shirk the Imperius Curse as thought it were nothing, but for some reason he just couldn't get a grip on what it was that Snape was doing to him. It was infuriating the potions master and Harry almost took pleasure in that fact, although he would rather be spared getting screamed at so early in the morning; especially when he hadn't slept at all the previous night.

Snape raised his wand.

"No...not again..."

"Yes, Potter. Again," the man sneered. "You must learn. And if it be the hard way as you've apparently chosen, then so be it."

"Wait - there was an easy way?"

"_Legilimens!"_

Harry let out a strangled cry as the spell hit him. Once more, like so many other times, the images began flashing through his mind without permission. Harry tried desperately to banish them.

_Harry was looking at his bruised and swollen face in a mirror..._

The image slid into his head, scratched and grainy and very diluted of colour. His face was horribly gaunt and injured. Bruises covered his skin, his eyes were swollen, his lip was bleeding and split...A large man slid into the memory quicker than the blink of an eye as the image jumped to accommodate his presence, and the black-haired boy at the sink went completely rigid, knowing it wasn't over...

Harry had had enough. He squinted through hazy eyes and could just make out the smoky form of his professor across the dark room, mumbling under his breath, his wand pointed straight at him. Harry shook and raised his own wand; sweat covering his body with the strain the spell was putting on him.

"_Protego!"_

"POTTER!"

Snape ducked and the spell missed him, hitting the wall behind him and causing a web of cracks to spiral through the stone. He growled in anger, his onyx eyes filled with an alarming amount of rage. He straightened and advanced on Harry, who was shaking with suppressed fury. He was going to teach the brat a lesson.

"Something the matter, Potter?"

A hiss. "No."

"What was that I just had the pleasure of seeing? Have you been having a bad year?"

Green eyes incredulously met his.

"Do you believe yourself to be special? Or do you constantly tell yourself that you are nothing? Do you hope to get some pity from others? Are you the poor one?"

"Sod off."

"Do you remember that night when you looked at yourself in the mirror, your ugly face disfigured?" Snape stopped and looked down at the wizard by his feet. "You deserved it."

"No!" Harry cried, shuddering and sliding to the floor. _"No!"_

"You did," Snape whispered. "And you know it. You are filthy. _Nothing._ Think of all you have just seen..."

Harry pressed his face to the ground again, trying not to let the tears slip out through his closed eyelids. He wouldn't cry in front of Snape again. He knew what the professor was trying to do to him. Yet, his mind was slowly slipping away from him and letting it be coated in what Snape was saying. His soul was scratching at his insides. He wanted to close his eyes and never have to open them again.

"You are empty inside," the man whispered. "You feel nothing. You are nothing. You have no one and nobody wants you."

_He's right, you know,_ Harry thought to himself.

"How does it feel to be alone in a world where no one cares?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth together. He was caving and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. It was true...it was all true...

A while passed.

"You realize I have succeeded," Snape exclaimed after observing the boy for a moment.

Harry looked up. "What d'you mean?"

"You didn't give me many memories this time and that is definitely an improvement, but even so, I have enough to reduce you to _this._ You are weak. You need more training, as much as I hate to say it. I would prefer you out of my classroom as quickly as possible."

He paused and pocketed his wand with moon-white fingers. "But I do not see any wish for improvement from you, Potter. Are you listening to me?"

Harry's brow furrowed in thought. His mind was somewhere else at the moment and he was finding it difficult to focus on what Snape was presently saying to him. "Why did you say those things to me?"

"To show you exactly how the Dark Lord would use your memories against you. You aren't well and you aren't even close to standing a chance against him."

Harry threw himself into a nearby chair dizzily and sighed, his eyes red-rimmed from tiredness and his skin covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. "I _am_ well. I'm fine. I can't stand up to Voldemort - "

"_Don't say his name, Potter!"_

"- And I know that, but it's not like people are expecting me to live anyway."

Snape seethed. His furious eyes narrowed and his lip curled to form one of the most dangerous glares he could summon. _"Never_ speak his name in my presence! I have told you never to do that and even now you disregard my rules. I am still your professor. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry scowled.

"And ten more points for telling me to sod off."

Harry clenched his teeth, refraining from retaliating with a comeback. He'd only lose more points if he pissed Snape off, especially before classes had even started.

Snape sat on the closest tabletop and regarded Harry with an expression quite like smugness. "Idiot boy...you _aren't_ well. I can blatantly see that."

"Oh yeah?" Harry snorted. "How would _you_ really know?"

"A little griffin told me," the man answered, his eyes malicious. Something was strange about him all of a sudden.

Harry stared.

Snape stood up and took out his wand. "Again."

Harry groaned and got up.

—x—x—x—

"Anyone?"

Dead silence.

"Anyone besides Granger?"

Muffled laughter from the Slytherin's.

"No? Then would you all mind telling me what you're doing in my potions class?"

More silence. Extremely uncomfortable silence.

Snape scowled irritably and summoned Neville's plant off the boy's table with a wave of his wand. The bottom part of the stem looked like it had been chewed on and the potions master regarded it with raised eyebrows before properly severing the roots off it with more magic.

"_Do_ try to sharpen your knife once in a while, Longbottom," he sneered. "By the way you hack at things I daresay you'll have to do that quite often."

Neville flushed as the Slytherins chortled. Pansy snorted loudly in happiness and Snape closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. (Hermione put her hand down, looking very put out).

The crackling of the flames under the Gryffindor and Slytherin cauldrons pierced through the heavy din of the dungeon. The smell was wonderful: every brewer had to place herbs of lavender on the fire before they began ("Why would that help the potion?" Ron had complained), and it was making them all a little sleepy. Even the Slytherins were quieter than usual, but nobody was complaining about this. The glow of the flames cascaded along the walls and shimmered off every surface and thing in the room; it was quite unlike any potions class they had had before. The particular salve they were making called for such strange ingredients with even more peculiar ways of adding them, so the heavy scent of lavender had to be bypassed in order for them to concentrate. It smelled a little like Trelawney's room with twice the amount of terror.

"The _Adder's Tongue_ is important to the mixture because of the severity of its healing properties," the professor said, glaring at Hermione. "In ancient times it was soaked in cold water and bound to a wound until the plant became warm, then was buried in mud to seal the charm. Only recently has it been brewed in potions. It is mixed with the_ Plantain_ herb in this particular brew to aid with the healing of physical pain, giving the salve a cooling sensation when administered."

Snape tenderly fingered the lily-like flowers of the plant a moment and cast a threatening glance over the room before returning the herb to Neville, who was still blushing.

"Back to your potions," he barked, swooping down upon his chair and picking up a black quill and a bottle of red ink. "I have essays to grade and if I have to discipline anyone today that person will find his or herself face-first in a cauldron. And the Salve of Healing, when not fully brewed, does horrible things to the skin."

Neville whimpered slightly and bent over his plant.

Hermione pursed her lips and finished chopping her _Adder's Tongue_, and then studied the instructions carefully before proceeding to powder her dragonflies.

"How do you cut them, Hermione? The herbs?" Ron asked darkly, eyeing Snape lest the professor overhear him asking for help from a classmate. Hermione looked up.

"Just...just chop them, Ron," she answered irritably. "If the instructions don't specify a specific way, then do it however you bloody well please!"

Ron looked taken aback. His eyebrows were in sudden danger of disappearing into his hairline and he exchanged a worried glance with Harry. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes!" Hermione answered. "Yes, I'm fine...but really, Ron...I've got to concentrate."

Ron tutted and took to hacking away at his herbs in much the same way that Neville had. Harry watched him drowsily for a moment before clumsily dumping his fistful into his own cauldron, then pulling the bowl of dead dragonflies towards him.

_A little griffin told me._

Harry's emerald eyes were far away. He busied himself with his mortar and pestle for a moment, lost in thought, then spotted one more piece of _Adder's Tongue_ that he'd forgotten to chop. Silently cursing, he carelessly gnashed away at it with his knife, his brain demanding attention in so many different areas -

"Ouch!"

"Oh wow, Harry," Ron exclaimed from somewhere far off. His voice was muffled. "You really hurt yourself...Hermione, look at this..."

Harry brought his hand to his face and studied the cut. Dark red blood oozed out in a stream down his wrist from his index finger. He watched it reflect the light from the fires as though mesmerized.

_A little griffin told me._

"I'm _fine,_ Ron," Harry protested as his friend made to grab his injured hand. Harry wrenched it free and put his finger in his mouth to suck on the wound. "It's nothing, don't worry..."

"Oh Harry, don't," Hermione said disapprovingly. "That won't make it better. Won't you let me look at it...I could put it under a sealing spell until you can get to Madame Pomphrey. Otherwise you'll be bleeding into your potion and the Salve of Healing is extremely sensitive to the slightest alteration of ingredients...Oh Harry, you _did_ get yourself, didn't you? That's a deep cut."

_A little griffin told me._

"Hermione, have you been talking to Snape lately?" Harry asked suddenly, his finger still in his mouth. He really wished that she would stop talking. It was making him angry.

Hermione's eyes went wide. _"What?_ You mean privately?"

Harry nodded.

"No," she answered, suspicion clouding her face. "Why?"

"No reason," the black-haired boy replied, scratching his nose uneasily. He grabbed his herbs with his free hand and dumped them into his cauldron, then tipped the contents of his mortar in after it. His potion hissed and emitted a cloud of steam, then turned from periwinkle blue to bright orange.

"Shit!"

Hermione moaned. _"No,_ Harry...you have to stir it three times clockwise and then twice counter-clockwise before you add the dragonflies...oh dammit, here comes Snape..."

Harry looked down at the knife in his hands as though planning on using it on the potions master as the man stalked down the rows of tables towards the back of the room where the three sat, a horrible look on his face. Harry didn't know why, but he wanted to panic. Possibly it was the way the man's eyes were gleaming murderously, or the degree to which his lip was curling, or maybe even the way he was baring his teeth. Either one, Harry couldn't decide. The class turned in their seats curiously to examine what was happening. With a stab of hatred, Harry spied Malfoy and his cronies laughing silently in their seats.

Snape stopped by their table with a flourish and stared down his hooked nose into Harry's cauldron. Without saying anything he grabbed the knife from Ron's hands and prodded the contents, which appeared to have the viscosity of very thick porridge. The cauldron bubbled and simmered happily in response.

"Zero on this assignment, Potter," Snape sneered, throwing the tool back onto the table. "Empty your cauldron and see me at my desk."

Moodily, Harry ignored the snickers from around the room and the piteous looks that Ron and Hermione were giving him, and waved his wand over his turned-sour potion, causing it to vanish. He harshly stuffed his books and potions ingredients into his book bag and hurried to the front, trying not to notice the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Snape beckoned him closer once Harry arrived.

"Detention for this, Potter," he snarled so that only Harry could hear him.

Harry was incredulous. "It was a mistake! Why do I get a detention for it?"

"Because you're so wrapped up in your own pathetic affairs that you cannot even concentrate on a simple potion in my class."

_"Pathetic?!_ How can you - "

Snape wasn't in the mood for this. He had always loathed the scent of lavender and the heavily perfumed air was making him feel sleepy, stupid and his headache ate at the spot behind his eyes. He stood up and looked down at the young wizard, his eyes reflecting his discomfort. He took in every inch of Harry, how the boy was quaking with silent rage, how his eyes were bright with fury and injustice, how he dared to disrupt his potions class with his inept ability at brewing. Merlin, he was becoming worse than Longbottom.

"Out," Snape growled, gesturing sharply towards the door. "Now."

Harry left without a word. Snape turned his eyes on his class and caught sight of almost everyone staring at him (except Granger). A low murmur of talk broke out quickly as all eyes fell back to their tasks after Snape rewarded them all with one of his best death glares, and he straightened up and followed Potter out of the room.

"So," Snape growled as the heavy wooden door boomed closed, rounding on Harry. "You have the audacity to interrupt my class with your pathetic attempt at potion-making, then you decide to counter me when I summon you to my desk?"

Harry was leaning angrily against a damp wall, his arms folded in front of him. He said nothing, but the redness in his cheeks and the flaring of his nostrils gave him away. Snape gazed at him.

"I have told you from your first day in my class that I do not tolerate insolence."

"My apologies _sir."_

"Brat."

Snape stood a little closer. "I have to worry about enough without you in my life against my discretion, invading my personal privacy and taking up my spare time. I highly advise you to stay out of my way as much as possible, or something might happen." He knew enough about Harry to know that he had to keep a little bit of an eye on him...just to be sure Harry didn't do anything stupid...He allowed a brief memory to flash through his mind. He had been told things he was sure Harry would never admit anytime soon.

"But Dumbledore told us we have to - "

"What our dear Headmaster has ordered us to do doesn't have to be carried out to the letter if we don't want it to be," Snape said quietly. "You can do your homework in my chambers after classes, Potter, but afterwards I want you straight out as quickly as possible."

Harry exhaled through his nose and stood up a little straighter.

"Back into class," Snape ordered curtly. That wiped the triumphant expression from Harry's face and the young man's shoulders slumped. Snape rejoiced inwardly. "You are to complete a foot-long essay on why you should never annoy me. If you don't get it done in class, you can do it during your detention. Now move."

---x---x---x---

Dumbledore had always been a strict believer in honesty and loyalty.

It was one of the most important things to him, almost like second nature after holding these two virtues on such high pedestals all his life. They contributed most to the high level of integrity that most people in the Wizarding world said that he possessed, and if you were trusting in Albus Dumbledore, you would never be let down.

At the moment, however, these morals were being very threatened.

"Really, Albus," Minerva said quietly, her tired gray eyes reflecting the firelight from the grate as she held a steaming mug of tea up to her face. "I think it would be good for Harry to see something like that. Goodness knows he's wondered since he was able to think properly about it."

The ancient wizard sat in his chair, his hands resting flat on the top of his desk. Wearing robes of light blue, patterned with gold stars and shimmering slightly, he resembled nothing short of a very large and oddly shaped pillow. His own mug of tea sat forgotten on the wooden desktop and he exhaled into his beard with a sigh of indecision.

"I know he must have wondered," he acknowledged quietly. "And I feel terrible for not letting him know sooner about this. He hasn't shown any real desire to find out, and that is why I haven't pursued the issue..."

"Do you think it will be good for him?"

"I don't know."

Fawkes gave a feeble chirp from his perch and Minerva jumped slightly, her teacup rattling in its saucer.

"A place like that..." Dumbledore continued after a pause, closing his eyes. "Doesn't perform wonders for the spirit. It is a heavily guarded area and cannot be visited long before one begins to feel an immense weight. You know what is kept in there besides corpses, Professor McGonagall. After I take Harry in I will most certainly have to change the ways to get in, unless I seal the boy's ears so he cannot hear me."

"I'll understand if you don't think it wise."

A portrait gave a loud snore from across the room.

"I think I will, Minerva," the Headmaster said after a few minutes of quiet. "Harry should know. I'll approach him tomorrow while he's with Severus and...it might be good for Severus to accompany us, actually..."

McGonagall sniffed.

"I hope he takes it all right," the man said exhaustedly, glancing once at Fawkes and then wrapping his hands around his tea. "I couldn't bear it if Harry felt more pressure than he already does."

"Are you worried that...?"

"No. I just want him to be all right."

"This will be a large blow to him, Albus."

"Very large indeed."

---x---x---x---

I'm SO incredibly sorry that I took so long to post...school and work and such...Please don't kill me!!!! ï 


	20. Catalyst

Rated R for swearing, violence and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

xxx

Chapter 20: Catalyst

Professor Lupin's brow knit together with worry.

Harry was clearly in pain. He could see it. He'd been stealing glances at the boy all through dinner and Harry's skin tone had steadily faded to an unearthly ashen tint, his lips looking as pale as death. His green eyes stood out sharply against the vampire-white of his face, the blackness of his hair sucking every bit of colour that managed to cling to the clammy flesh. Lupin wondered whether he should say anything: after all, Harry was sitting with his nose almost pressed to the surface of the Gryffindor table, the corners of his eyes wrinkled from squeezing them shut so hard. And nobody was noticing but him. He vaguely wondered what the boy must be feeling like to have people surrounding him who knew nothing of the toil inside…

However, Lupin had also heard a stiff hiss of anguish from the man that sat beside him. Professor Snape had made to grab at his arm as though going through some sort of convulsion, but at the last second had righted himself and now sat as stiffly as ever, although his already pasty complexion was possibly even more so than usual.

"Are you all right, Severus?"

The potions master grunted in reply and picked at his dinner with his fork. "I'm alive, Lupin, however depressing that must be. For the both of us."

Reumus studied his face a little while longer. Severus was very good at lying, after all, and nothing that resembled a fib betrayed him. But his eyes…they were far away somewhere, deep in thought, brooding…

Lupin chuckled half-heartedly and his eyes landed on Harry once more, who was now sitting and staring blankly at Miss Granger's goblet, Mr. Weasley chatting animatedly to him as though he were totally fine.

Reumus sighed. Something needed to be done.

xxx

He couldn't take it.

Harry looked up at his housemates, trying desperately to keep his face normal. They were talking happily with one another, and Harry stood up quite slowly, for fear of his legs giving out beneath him. The whole world swayed and the room suddenly looked much darker than it actually was. Harry gripped the table, fighting nausea.

Hermione looked over, a bright smile lighting her face, for Ron was dramatically recounting her assault on Draco in their third year. "Where are you off to, Harry? You haven't eaten any of your dinner!"

Harry plastered a grin onto his face and shook his head. "I'm tired," he replied. "Not hungry. I think I'll go up and start my homework or something…"

_"You,_ starting your homework _early?"_ Ron gasped, feigning surprise. "That's something I've never heard of before, Harry."

Harry's insides sank. He forced a laugh and shook them off, promising Ron a game of Gobstones when he got back. Waving back at them all, he strode quickly out of the Great Hall. He gritted his teeth at the many pairs of eyes that were trained on him, and he knew that the laughter erupting from the Slytherin table was at his expense. He was utterly and completely alone.

He felt numb.

Ginny wouldn't look at him or talk to him. He didn't know what was wrong, but he didn't care at the same time. She was a stupid girl, anyway. They all were. He had never felt worse in his entire life, and he couldn't explain to himself why things were so different today. He didn't know. He didn't know anymore.

The hallways were empty, and he was grateful. He was grateful for the fact that no one was there to talk to him, talk _about_ him, make fun of him, lie about him, betray him, die on him, question him, yell at him, or hurt him. He was grateful for the cool of the air against his searing hot forehead. He liked the sound of his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, and the glow that the torches were casting over the floors. He felt safe. Secluded. Safe in the cold and darkness. He had changed so drastically and he knew it, but he also liked it. He liked the new Harry, even though nobody else noticed it.

Harry felt an ice-cold tap on his shoulder, and turned around quickly, plunging his hand deep into his robes for his wand.

"Careful, Potty!" Peeves cackled, floating eye-level in a cross-legged position before him. "I can hurt _you_, but you can't hurt me!"

"Fuck off, Peeves," Harry hissed, storming down the corridor. Peeves, thankfully, didn't follow, but his laughter rang through the halls, causing the sparse hairs on the back of Harry's neck to stand on end.

xxx

Draco Malfoy's frown could have been seen in any far corner of the world; it was so pronounced. The space between his eyebrows was wrinkled in annoyance, his eyes dark and glittering.

"What's the matter?" Goyle asked, his fork poised in the air half way to his mouth. "You look angry."

Draco didn't answer. His eyes followed the slumped form of Potter as he left the Great Hall, looking thoroughly exhausted. Malfoy's ire grew and he suddenly felt a strong urge to follow the wizard out into the corridors. He would have liked nothing more than to show him how he felt about him right now…and he didn't doubt that Potter wouldn't enjoy it in the least.

He blamed Potter entirely for the recent capture of the five Death Eaters, including Crabbe's father. Since the men had stood trial and had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, Vincent Crabbe had completely closed in on himself. Draco's own father had narrowly missed being captured, and the mere thought of a Malfoy locked back up in the wizard prison like an animal sent cold shivers down his spine.

He knew that Potter had nothing to do with the capture directly, but he was involved with Dumbledore, and anyone who was friendly with that fool of a man deserved death. He gritted his teeth and drummed his fingertips on the wooden table.

"Malfoy?"

"Shut it, Goyle," Draco snapped.

Gregory was quiet for a moment. "Potter again. Isn't it?"

"I hate him."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed even further as the Granger girl got up and made her way out of the Hall as well.

"Hate her, too."

"The Mudblood?"

Malfoy sighed. _"Who else,_ _Goyle?"_

The boy shook his head and went back to devouring his dinner.

Draco fumed. "How _dare_ they get away with imprisoning the Dark Lord's followers…that sodding Dumbledore…"

"Draco," Pansy said, her voice low. "Your father told you not to do anything that might get you into trouble."

"Piss off," Malfoy retorted. He stood up. "I'm going after her. I have to do something. I can't just sit here and allow them to go on as though nothing's happened! They must be punished."

He stalked off towards the doors. With a small gesture and a heated glance to Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy followed suit.

xxx

Ginny plucked a petal from the rose she was holding and threw it into the lake. The black water claimed it gently and the petal swirled around a few times before it was carried out slowly on the water, barely visible against the evening darkness. The flower loomed blood red against the small waves and Ginny shivered a little and pulled her robes more tightly around her, the chilled November breeze playing with her hair.

She had been so stupid.

xxx

Hermione was crying. She couldn't believe herself.

Laughter tore through her ears and she knew that she'd finally cracked. They'd gotten to her core. She had promised herself that they'd never get to her core. But she stung, and she knew that her guard had finally fallen.

Promises were stupid.

"Awe, look!" Pansy cooed from somewhere to Hermione's right. "The Mudblood's crying!"

More laughter. Someone hit her on the face and Hermione hissed.

"Fuck you all," she managed to say, her voice quivering.

"Oh, Mudblood," Draco breathed into her ear, sending chills down her spine. "You should know by now that talking like that to us doesn't go over well."

"She's being brave," Pansy giggled. "Venturing into the corridor's all by herself!"

A hand wound itself into her bushy hair while another grabbed her right arm in a vice-like grip so painful that Hermione was sure would leave bruises. Judging by the hands on her arm, they were Pansy's.

Hermione wouldn't open her eyes. She silently damned herself to hell for allowing herself to break down and cry in front of these tyrants, but not a drop more would squeeze itself from her closed eyelids. She bit her tongue to enforce the law, tasting the metallic flavour of blood. She'd come after Harry, but they'd followed. And they'd gotten her first.

"How long as this been going on, Mudblood bitch?" Draco asked. "Three months? Almost four? I must say you've got nerve for holding out this long. No one else ever has."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed from somewhere to the left. Someone struck her face again and Hermione's teeth sunk deeper into her tongue. She would not cry any more. She wouldn't…she wouldn't…

"Oh the poor darling," Pansy said maliciously. "She's crying again…"

xxx

Harry stopped in his tracks and listened hard, for he thought he'd heard laughter ring down one of the adjoining corridors.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

Sighing, he resumed his trek, and met nobody until he'd finally reached his destination.

Opening the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, he breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, he'd needed this isolation - this confinement. He needed to be completely alone. Something was going to happen soon. He could feel the familiar sensations in his mind, behind his eyes, in his very skull. A pressure so intense it was maddening.

He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around, spotting no one - as usual. Even Myrtle was quiet. Everything was quiet. He loved the quiet.

A searing bolt of pain shot through his head. His face flushed and he broke out into waves and waves of cold sweat. Gritting his teeth, he would not scream. He wouldn't.

A scream echoed down the corridor outside and Harry was about to turn his head, but found that he couldn't. He was helpless. Harry dropped to his knees.

"I know you're there," he managed to say through a clenched jaw.

_Ah, but you're not so sure you want to rid yourself of me, are you?_

"If you want to kill me, do it now!" Harry growled. "Either leave me or kill me! I don't care anymore!"

_That's it, Harry. That's it. Do you feel the anger? The hate? The pain? Of course you do. Keep dwelling on it, Harry. Feel it. Live it. Only then will you give in to it._

Harry groaned as a wave of anguish washed over him anew, making him want to throw up.

_Any help that comes your way - dismiss it. They do not really care, and you do not need it. You have nobody._

"I do have help," Harry moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Professor Snape. You know this. _I do have help!"_

_Ah, it was the girl. The only reason you have people watching you is because of the girl. The little griffin. Remember her?_

"What are you talking about? What girl?"

_The queen of swords, Harry._

Harry's mind was blank. He couldn't get around what was being said. "The queen of..."

Suddenly and against his own will, it was as though a movie had begun to play in his head. Pictures and sounds flashed by his eyes, even though he squeezed them closed and shook his head violently to try to send them away.

_Ginny sat cross-legged by the Gryffindor fire, wearing a Falmouth Falcons shirt and violet pajama pants. A tarot spread lay around her on the floor._

_The image skipped and the Queen of Swords card filled Harry's vision. "This is the reversed Queen of swords," Ginny's voice stammered. "S-she is a woman in your life who has an intent to go behind your back and betray you...she will cause you a lot of pain and/or a lot of embarrassment."_

_Again, the picture changed and there was the Great Hall, decorated for Halloween. Harry and the rest at the Gryffindor table were just getting up to leave for the night, Ron and Hermione bickering as usual._

_"Are you coming?"_ _Harry saw himself say._

_Ginny looked uneasy._ _"Oh no...I've...I've got to talk to one of the Professors about something."_

And then as soon as the memories had started, it was all over. Harry knelt on the floor still, cradling his head in his hands, comprehension dawning.

_The little griffin, Harry. _

"No…Ginny…"

_She backstabbed you, Harry. Told your secrets. How does that make you feel?_

Harry had had enough. Enough of everyone and everything. He shuddered and trembled, his head hurting so badly that it made him want to expel whatever he'd eaten for dinner. But even the cold stone did nothing to soothe the wretched pain; it only became worse.

And in his bruised, broken mind, Harry thought: _Death would be so much better than this._

xxx

Draco grinned and stepped away, and Hermione crumpled to the ground.

"You've kept our little secret so well, Mudblood," he sneered. "I knew you would."

"Piss off!" Hermione sobbed, trying to stop trembling. "Or I'll - "

"Do what?" Draco lashed. "Go to Dumbledore? I'd like to see you try it, you filthy Mudblood whore. Do as you please, but remember that if you dare, your fucking parents will be dead as soon as the words leave your tongue."

The Slytherin's departed, their many footsteps growing fainter, their forms swallowed up by the darkness of the hallway.

All was silent.

It took exactly three minutes for the Gryffindor to simply move. Hermione sniffed and used the sleeve of her robes to wipe the blood from her nose. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment before gathering her scattered books and torn bits of parchment, stuffing them all haphazardly into her book bag. Her entire essay for Ancient Runes was destroyed; it would have to be written all over again.

Walking slowly down the hallway towards the nearest loo, she couldn't hold back the remaining sobs that forced themselves out of her throat. She raised an arm and pressed it against her mouth to muffle the noise lest anyone should hear.

She definitely didn't want that.

Pushing open the door to the girls' toilet that, thankfully, was not too far away, Hermione stopped short, her mouth hanging open in complete shock.

"Oh gods…_Harry?"_

Harry turned his head sharply to look at her, his eyes widening in alarm. "Hermione!" he gasped, his voice raspy and choked. He was on his knees on the floor, but scrambled to his feet, his entire body quivering. "What're you doing here?"

"It's a _girls'_ loo!" Hermione retaliated, clapping her hands to her nose to hide the injury, trying to make it look as though she were itching it. "Harry, are you all right? What on earth - "

"Never mind," Harry interrupted sharply, brushing past her towards the door. "I was in here talking to Moaning Myrtle - oh shit, what happened to your nose?"

Hermione turned away and began heading for the sinks, but Harry caught her arm and twirled her to face him again. He gripped her hands and forced them away, revealing the bloody mess underneath. Hermione's breathing quickened and her heart pulsed inside her chest.

"Harry, please! Whatever you do, don't go after him! _Please,_ _I'm begging you - "_

The wizard's emerald eyes flashed in fury and, without saying another word, he stormed out of the washroom and let the door slam behind him.

Hermione felt like she was going to faint.

Quickly, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her complexion very pale. Rolling up the sleeve on her right arm, she saw the beginnings of bruises on her skin.

_Oh, these ones will be bad._

With trembling fingers, she snatched up a small towel hanging by the sink and held it to her nose to stop the flow of blood.

She cursed herself. Over and over in her head, she cursed herself and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling more mortified than she ever had in her entire life.

"Hello, Miss?"

Hermione spun around and stifled the surprised cry that lodged itself in her throat. At first, upon scanning the room, she saw no one; then spotted the transparent Moaning Myrtle floating listlessly near the ceiling.

Hermione slumped over a sink in relief. "Myrtle," she sighed. "It's only you."

The girl's magnified eyes flashed. "Only me?" she demanded, crossing her arms. "Am I that unimportant to you? Of course, I wasn't too important with anyone else, either!"

"Listen, Myrtle," Hermione interrupted. "Were you in here the whole time?"

The ghost suddenly smiled and giggled to herself. "You mean, when Harry was in here? Of course I was."

"Then you saw what he was doing?"

Myrtle nodded. "Odd boy," she said, almost to herself, reminding Hermione of Luna Lovegood. "He visits here quite often, you know. Talks to himself. Screams quite a bit, too. I do wish he'd stop - it hurts my ears."

The bushy-haired girl didn't know what to think. She gave Myrtle a look of pure confusion and continued dabbing at her nose. "He _talks_ to himself?"

"Oh yes!" Myrtle exclaimed happily, floating down a little further, pigtails trailing behind her. "Says the strangest things. Talks about death, too. He would make an excellent ghost, wouldn't he?"

Hermione left the bloody towel in the sink. Slowly, she turned towards the door and left without a word.

xxx

Harry stalked down the darkened corridors, his face flushed and warm, his green eyes wide, filled with hatred, and darting this way and that for some sign of activity.

His footsteps echoed angrily around him and he passed the library, the dark wood door shining in the light of the torches that flanked the stone walls.

And then there they were - the people he was looking for. A lump grew in his throat and he found that he was so angry, he couldn't even manage to speak.

So he didn't. His hand already held his wand, his arm outstretched, the Slytherin's walking cheerily down the corridor without knowing who was behind them.

And Harry liked it that way.

xxx


End file.
